The Runcible Blog

I was thinking of new poetry (or lyrics of some sort) when I remembered a poem I wrote almost a year ago but never shared on here. At the time, I was terribly excited about the symmetry and the numerology of the stanzas. Unfortunately, I lost track of whatever sentiment it should've had, and I never finished it (my poetic math required there to be exactly one more stanza, and I even knew what it'd have to be about). It isn't any good, but I was so obsessed with the words for a few days back then. Who knows why?

my cold, bony fingers
would rather clutch your callused toes,
or nestle between inner arm and outer side.

my cold, bony fingers
will knead your back when mine itches,
and tingle the nape hairs with electric patience.

my cold, bony fingers
tremble against your unsure hand,
but my vulnerability endears -- or not.