Banister

Stubborn little steps,
every inch giving way to my
toes gives
begrudgingly.

Just a few little steps;
I'd run miles to you,
who forgives
undecidedly.

Stretched throughout the walk,
history bending and shaping itself
to limits of mind.
I can only fit your coils of
striking, aching love in
so far, then I find
the grip slipping
on this banister.
I've tread these stairs
before, grease from
greedily thinking of you
is everywhere.
These hands always
weathered by pacing violently;
memories, I need them
quietly.

-

Twenty fingers exchanged letters of
old love, using others' metaphors
to admit defeat.
Useless, because comparing to a
summer's day doesn't work;
I hate the heat.

AN: Again, for him.

It's been awhile! Comments appreciated.