You said you didn’t want me
holding your hand
because you were embarrassed
of the calluses on your fingers
you got from playing
the guitar. I never thought
that music can do that
kind of damage. I remember
your old lover
who used to hold your hand,
whom you refuse to let go of
for a reason: his hand locked
together with yours
forming the shape of hearts
and many more things. You know
what? I never really
wanted to hold your hand.
My only wish is to nibble
on your fingernails
as though they were my own.
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