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Contrast
Contrast.
Contrast solidifies -
Your gentle words
from your hard grasp; rough hands.
Long fingers gripping,
tight around my own...
Squeezing.
"That hurts." I whisper.
"That hurts." Louder.
You're quiet, still.
Still squeezing -
Then stop.
"Oh."
Apologize.
Your hand drops.
I wonder why you hold,
knuckles white, so tight -
You think my hand's to mold.
It's a forgetful thing.
You forget to see.
Then you look
and breathe in, gasp
and stop.
Apologize.
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