The hand

You showed me how to know you

and now, as I swatch my hand

to kiss it, the follicles

take your shape.

I pinch my knuckle—

painless; does it hurt you?

Tendons judder in their beds

as I click my fingers—

soundless; yet you jolt awake

I know you do.

You showed me how to know you

through the gaps that bridged

your fingers, as your knuckle

slicked the lipstick

into shape.