wheni take his hand,
i accidentally squeeze the knuckles he's
torn open and let bleed.
i don't know how to do this,
spins me around.
on the couch,
does not mind ifi lay my head on his.
laughs when my laugh busts.
talks me out of it, the opposite,
c'mon, sis, i'll tuck you in bed.
the arms around me last time
slip for a second to my waist
but it's not til the morning thati cry.
hoping, though the scars remain,
the hands are not