straining to breathe through your eyes
you collapsed over the bench
when i pulled you up my hand
listened for warmth at your shoulder
and you called me a dumbass
for taking poor care of knives
and you touched the bad part of my skull

i guess hands have the right to a strand of hair
the muscle of a shoulder / even mine
but i want to touch everyone
skull-shaping is a bad old science but
now your bone and my fingertip should meet
shards from touching over these walls