A Sonnet for My Companion

If I knew where you kept your hands, I’d pick one up,
like a silk handkerchief, between my hands, just to feel
whose hands are warmer, whose is more soft, whose fingers
are longer, thicker, whose love line more pronounced.

If I knew you left you had left them at work, I’d ride out
on my Susuki street bike to get them. On the way back
I might stop at the pharmacy for a new medication
and spray-on sunscreen, because there is nothing, anymore,

between our skin and the sun’s radiation.
But let’s be honest. You haven’t left them anywhere. I’ve looked
through every kitchen cabinet and drawer. I’ve retraced
your steps to the smokehouse and bakery. I know your hands

are still with you, hiding somewhere inside me.
Maybe inside a kidney. Maybe inside the tip of my tongue.


One thought on “A Sonnet for My Companion

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