Your hands are not Your hands

there’s this crevice that spans 

between where is and where isn’t, when was and when wasn’t, and 

we drift somewhere 

between 

it lacks threshold, it bridges as much as it divides,

 a safe space of 

detachment 

from what is, 

it creaks with expanse, 

shudders with possibility.

but between us 

would 

rather 

not 

think about it , 

so “jump” 

,it urges, 

“you’ll find your way back”