Five Finger Lover [NEW]

He converses with his steps
as he walks home,
consulting them.
The street would often butt in
in a beep beep or a swoosh.
And sometimes the wind
couldn’t help but mess his hair up.
It would stop him from wrinkling
his forehead too much-
as if to say
“don’t take it too seriously”.
He counts his fingers
and shakes his head
after tapping all five of a hand.

he would count his fingers again.
But before he will get to number five,
he will hold on to his pillow
as if  the bed was sinking beneath him.
“But I love them all.”
And he does.

In the morning, soon after he wakes up,
he would use the same five fingers
to stroke himself
as he remembers faint scenes
from a time where he only counted to one.


Back to Poetry [2013]