Seeing your handwriting today
makes me yearn for the sight
of your delicate hands.
The thin lines of your digits
reaching out to hold me;
the beauty of their shear gauntness.
destroyed by the scouring force of disease
and the fetid compulsion to shred and tear
at ones own flesh.
Take them,
and make them whole again my love
and behold
the interdigitating juxtaposition.
