arms
inside mine.
encircling me.
holding me.
protecting me, No,
roasting marshmallows under the fire
Again, again
they burn, they break
they disappear.
they cannot, with, stand the heat
I memorize the perfect creases
the hands that hold mine.
hands greased with cooking oil.
slipping away when the heat’s too warm
time’s perfect gift.
the needle never holds true long
Love jumps rope
promises mold and decay
arms end.