From life, to you

A touch of rough fingertips on a softer wrist
cold from the chill air around us
A touch,
of rough fingertips on a softer wrist

there's no shake
no earthquakes to wave good bye
from life, to you

no

just a touch
of rough fingertips on a softer wrist as your muscles stop being told
to hold those fingers up
and you stop telling me to lean in close

a touch
of warm water
drops onto colder hands
and somewhere
seeming so far
my throat tightens
and yours doesn't.
It wasn't...
much more than you ceasing to speak

to me

or yourself,
but it'd help
if there were earthquakes to say
goodbye
Instead of just a touch
of empty fingertips
on fuller wrists