Finger Tips

 

The traffic light
hardly seen, the glare
a bright bright day, her
finger tips wrapped
into the palm of my hand
the small of my back, the
center of my
thinking—thoughts
watching for cars
busses, people
waiting
the light to change,
a warm
and bright sun
bouncing
among the warehouses
flashing off sunglasses
her fingers curled
holding my hand
my consciousness
and little bits
of happiness, held
while waiting to
cross the street…it
is this small moment
this microscopic
piece of life
her hand, a finger sliding
across a palm
I see the traffic, the light
the busses and people, the sun
glinting glaring
I feel her
finger tips
only.

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