Muscle Memory

My hand has not forgotten
how to walk alone.
It just doesn’t like to.
It remembers being entwined
between your fingers
and swinging back and forth
with the cadence
of our feet walking
around the campus.
Now at your proximity
it twitches and it seizes
because it remembers
being close to you.
And so do I.

Reading by Proxy

How could they read you so wrong?
How could they mistake my favorite book
for a romance novel
printed in paper back
and sold on the basis of sex
and fantasy of times spent in bed?
Why must they rip the pages out
turn them upside down
and claim to divine their meaning?
How can they claim to know your words
when they’ve only scanned your pages?
How can they throw you away
when they have only cracked your cover?