These hands were made to fit yours and will never lose their shape…

If I named the point when I became i, you’d laugh-

it’s something so small something so pale, something like smoke, something like mist, mist rolling like jello off the pier on the day when I noticed these hands were made to fit yours.

you cringe, you back away— you wave limply and say, I’ve got something (or rather) to do. your smile sinks, the mist obscures you… you start to walk away.

But these hands were made to fit yours. to anchor you in the wind and place you in the mist, to strengthen you when the undertow strains to settle you when you cower at the roar of the lightning-god. to prepare you for that day when I will not be i and you will not be you and such simple things as love will be lost to such meaningless things as your alarm clock, my word processor, our fears-become-lives.

These hands were made to fit yours and will never lose their shape but in a moment, a month, or years, we will no longer see those days when love was life and life was free.

and that these hands were made for thee.