by Kristen Hayes
i want to put my pale
hands in yours and hold them
there until the shades blend
together like drops of clear rain
that meld into muddy water
until our fingers grow
roots that would wither
at the thought of pulling apart
i want to feel the same wind
that breathes life into you
i want to watch wrinkles
grow rings around our knuckles
until the silver hatchet glides
through our limbs and we fall
to the ground, like paper planes.