Your hand was always
one of trust
teaching my own hands
the curves of the wood.
Adult-like
Authoritative
Eager to help and
oh-so-kind.
They taught mine how to
separate core from synthetic stitching
a flash of red, mostly yellow, only
white with luck.
Mine taught yours that
temperament was needed
not
power was needed
not.
Lines were crossed with
No intentions
No words
No actions
Confusion lie only at
your front door.
I needed a ride.
There were fast hands
tall drinks
so many shenanigans and a
Bang
a car backfiring.
Your trusting hands.
Were those pennies I tasted?
-No, just blackness.
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