Closing the Distance
Out of the shadows, a hand
Reaches across a space of light,
Fingers stretching to their fullest length,
Parting the air that lies
Around the arm that the hand
Reaches for. To touch. The light
Accents the arm, blond hair
Becoming brown against white skin.
Are there long nails? Painted, red
And pointed? Yes. It is understood;
And they are sharper than lies,
Reach deeper than the truth,
Making the blood flow freely,
Evenly, from wounds so thin and clean
That the touched arm feels no touch.
They cut with the same unconscious ease
With which the fingers stretch at limber joints,
With which they slice through air.
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