Work Text:
You talk with your hands.
I've noticed this.
Slim, weathered, fingers, you—
—you command light,
and bring it down to me,
to my level.
How do you hold love in those hands,
I wonder.
How would you carry this burden,
would you trail a finger?
would you scratch it with a nail?
Or, would you—
—hold my hand, and not let go.
You would grasp it firmly,
and then smile.
I'm sure.
I want to feel the hard skin, the ridges of your palm like runes
that would light under my shadow.
Until then I wander
these streets,
under the sheen of a city
of palaces,
to fall to my knees
and sit under your warm,
orange, light.