I am a fist,
which clenches shut and releases wide
A soft clamshell
gently opening and closing
to absorb emotional nourishment
in the great deep of indifference
I am a fist,
veins popping ready for action
Sullied knuckles of dried blood—
a veneer of healing flesh
still stinging when you rinse it
A scab that has yet to form
I am a fist,
holding your hand tight when you are lost
guiding you through crowded rooms
and across lanes of asphalt riddled with potholes
Reassurance links your palm to mine
A diversion of cool confidence distracts you from my sweat
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