On The Table

I look at your hand,
Lying, resting, quiet on the table,
Resting, lying quiet on the wood,
And I want to crawl
Between your fingers.
I want to climb
Into that spot that marries up to
Mine, when we hold hands
Loosely, when we stroll,
So they move like reeds on the beach
Responding to a wind or turn of the path.
Or, snug with that tight wrap around clasp,
Where I anchor my small around your
Strong index,
Wrist to wrist to feel your heart beat.
Or, warm and passive in the
Movie light flicker, fragrant from popcorn
And love making.
I look at your hand,
And lay mine there, resting, quiet
On the table,
Resting, lying quiet
On the wood.