Colder and colder, until there is nothing left.

[ridingdinosaurs]

My hand reaches out for yours
at the middle, where it used to be.
It holds out like an insecure child,
hoping and scared of its frailty.

My hand reaches out for yours,
but is learning there's little use.
Unrequited tension pulls it back,
the tension fades; it has to.

My hand lingers out towards yours,
but anger is making a fist.
The place you once connected to
is curled up on itself in defense.