Why did we collectively agree
that love is stored in our hearts?
Why did no one stand up to argue
that love is within the other person's hands?
Trust me not?
Palm on your forehead late at night,
Checking your temperature.
A reassuring hand on your knee
When you're shaking with anxiety.
A grip around your wrists
While crossing the road.
Calloused fingers suddenly soft
While brushing tears off your cheeks.
Protective arm around your shoulders
when all you want is to lean.
Brush of fingers while passing a dish
Over the dinner table.
I'll cease to exist
When my heart stops beating
But I'll give you that letter with scrawly writings
Only when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.