when my hands approached your hands
they landed on it softly,
greeted it softly,
-hello, kind sir, madame,
so very pleased,
oh yes,
indeed -
it used to be that soft.
it used to be like six-year-olds and jello,
soft giggles rolling down warm unfolded laundry,
soft like rain the temperature of skin,
soft, pure, pulsing life,
a quiet, joyous universe that fit between us.
it used to be that soft.
it used to be that when I walked past it too swiftly
I'd graze a spot a half inch
above my knee;
there would be a small bruise because of my hardness,
my bones and frame,
a proprioceptive mistake.
what is between us used to be like that.