I stare at your hand as you drive
butterflies crawling up my throat
I know you dangle your hand between us
as a silent invitation for me
so sweet but yet still I’m scared
because I’ve been turned away
and left behind enough to mar my skin in burning scars.
But you break through my thoughts and these aged walls
with a gentle hand on my knee you soothe my burning
and I wish to lean across the seat and kiss thank yous
on your neck but for now my fingertips do the talking.