The back of my hand

I feel the false bottoms at the ends of my fingertips

Full of sensations of tracing lips, now just faded movie clips

I used to press the ivory keys I never understood

I’d be soft or assertive in my chords and moods

But mostly I’ve lost the tingling

That belongs to that lovely mingling

Of two like souls curling up in their woes

The wind passes by as I raise my hand high

It goes between my fingers where hers used to linger

As think of this I try to forget what I miss

So I ball up my memories missed as I ball up a fist

So all will only know the back of my hand