Again

It’s not possible this is the first time
that you’ve held my heart

your hands know its topography too well,
the tender spots, the ones that ache

the ones that haven’t seen daylight
since long before my memory played in a straight line

and each one of those spots calls your name
as the only balm that’s ever soothed them

the only hands that have mastered their care.
It’s not possible this is the first time.