Holding Hands with You

But I hold your hand and it is feather-light,
The older and taller you got,
Your hand would never be as heavy as your heart,
Bursting with blood and guts and innocence that I would kill for,
Your hands tiny, and turning, like the key on a music box
They would never be as heavy as my conscience, that I have tried to kill,

And I hold your hand and gasp at pastel teacups,
I long to spin in them and sip the sun guiltily in gulps,
I feel your brittle bird bones, your knuckles made of broken strength
Hard as nails underneath your freckled pale velvet
And I think of days and nights that we starved ourselves,
A hunger strike without a cause and you
Came out on the other side
Beautiful and womanly, flat and full,
I got lost inside the hallway and the hospital,
Inside a Hell that I called Heaven and you,
Loved me when I was evil, loved me when I was a skeleton
Covered me in your boyfriend's sweater, a rainbow rib cage
And I was too tired to laugh at the irony,
I wasn't even there, and I hate that I wish that
I could've been around more, especially when I was,
I hobbled home in hospital socks, hung my head
On a crucifix of empty-stomach embarrassment but,

You loved me when I sold my soul in the gutter just for a laugh,
You loved me without even getting the joke,
And I loved you every time you were a revolving door,
Spinning and turning in the Seattle rain that never let up,
And you never gave up, even if you never stopped changing your mind
You loved me when I wanted everyone to leave me alone.
You never did anything to anyone,
But love, and love and love until you were empty handed,
Shoulders hunched, glancing off to the side,
With cupid's bow lips that lived as a locked doorway
I loved you every time I asked what was wrong and you said "nothing",
I love you because you can love as softly,
As silently, and as mutually understood
As hand holding.