Fingers

Thirty-one years and I am here

I can count the number of women,

I have ever really kissed

Between my pinky and my ring finger

I have not even gotten to the middle

But this valley of skin in a V

From nail to nail is segregated by decades

This conundrum of connecting

Legs strutting and pressing down gas pedals

To propel steel shells over asphalt

And clouds of sound fluffing a dissonance

Of non introductions buffering a quilted silence

Wondering how so many others can at least

Find the plate to swing in triplicate and sit

And I am embarrassed at how few innings I have played

The human condition of yearning out

For skin and neurons to connect in synapse

Lightning bolts ablaze and it is contemplated

Out in the divergence of temporary appeasement

Decades of partnership stacked like a roadmap

Of pitfalls swung over and oasis picnics in the sun

Hanging on intentions with question mark hooks

Slung into a stupor in a dumbfounded panic

Quasimodo like a mutant, scarred and deformed

These limbs like numb nubs

Pawing at the bottom end of a doorway

Praying for entry and frustrated

With internal assumptions

Of why on a chain linked to my neck

Connected to thumping concrete instead of fingers

Gripping, leading and prompting to stand up straight

Connect with the partnered apex of her smile

And stay in these waters like empathetic caverns

Capable of understanding a life lived inside out