It's hard to get my jacket off
at 9 in the morning.
My hands are shaking
as I undo the buttons.
They look more like two wounded,
lanky animals
then they ever looked like hands.
A pasty color with pink knuckles,
cut by small razors
to make them look as if
my cat had scratched my hands.
My hands are shaking because
I am nervous.
Not nervous for a test,
encounter, or such.
But I'm thinking of you,
my love.
I'm thinking of your fingers lingering,
softly touching my skin that I always
mercilessly tore apart,
despite it's my everything.
The way your fingers
burn into my skin,
or at least,
they surely seem to.
But maybe it isn't you,
but the two sodas
that I am only awake
because of since
last night I only slept for
two brief hours
due to grim nightmares.
The caffeine fueling my body
like sleep never could manage.
Though it made my form uneasy
as it quivered and shook
like a nervous dog.
Though, I'm pretty sure it's just
the vivid image of
you and me together.
