Of Hands and Backs and Feet

There’s that thing I want
the one that’s so simple

and elusive.

The one that has your weight on my back
pressed and much too warm
until there’s no space between us
but there’s the warmth and that laughter that comes out hard and sharp
because I can’t really breathe.

The thing I replace with things that
are much too complex
but far easier to reach.

The ones that sully my hands
and busy my mind
and leave my heart alone.

There’s that thing I want
that has me talking about hearts
as though they are something more than gory pumps.

That thing, the one that has me
thinking about bare feet in the rain
you, perched atop that low wall so you were taller than me

the way your hands on my shoulders weighed nothing.