Hands

one, two, three...I run my fingers past her neck, three constellations, I find. a heavy sigh, and a heavier heart, turns the sky into her muse. I wonder if she'll ever discover the universe she holds within her. she uses words to feel, fills endless pages; I smudge them all, thoughts painting me black and blue. grumbling, she counts the things that aren't made for her. I wonder if she'll ever count others like me she's got a tight grip on, wonder if she'll ever count the things made for her...I tremble, as she goes about, a wallflower grasping at straws, I wonder if she'll ever take the wheel.