in which he curled his fingers through my hair long enough for me to notice

i wish i could find a tone
nonchalant enough to tell you
how much i wish you'd never
have let go.
in such a casual manner
to where the words would
strike you but i would hear
no verbal counter.
to where you'd wonder
how much of you is
still inside of me & dare
to ask.
after which i would reply
the tide does not vanish
seaside stones but turns them to
glittering sand.

Credits: Dave April for Photography