Our fingers grazed against each other,
Each touch making silent promises
Of possibilities of the intimacy that
We both so desperately craved.
Your hands as if sympathising with
My forgotten, tired weary hands
That had only ever reached out before
In the naïve hope of being saved.
And the lusting fingers, they finally met,
Spaces empty for too long filled
At last, with a quick and sudden clasp.
But I guess that’s where it was meant to end.
For, fingers laced among each other,
That is how we remained that night.
And I still think of lips that never met,
And smile wearily at what I cannot amend.


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