worth your weight in bricks

my hands have been cold and blue

with palms forever stained with

the memories of faded scribbled ink

for as long as i can recall

even so,

the fingers looped around my wrists

and the breaths panted between us two

are red-hot and searing

and we’re two pieces cut from the same cloth

and here i know that

it’d be so easy to stitch us together

but the light that filters in through broken blinds

and the laughter that sinks into my hollowed bones,

is the weight that’s settled deep in my being

and has been my home since the first sunrise

and i have since learned better

than to run such a blatant risk and

play my hand

again