When they touch purple dotted knees, and music sings
They are called piano hands
And you wear them so well, not like a glove
But like a birth mark your mother begged you to see the doctor for
But you refused
Because that mark was meant to be there
And it came with me
Just the same as petals on sunflowers
And the small stars
History teachers call capitals on the map in the front of the class room
Those dotted lines from point A to point B
Stretch much further than the four corners of wilted paper
And much wider than knobby knee caps
Purple dotted, singing,
Touch me touch me
Knee caps
Granite colored clouds hug the skin beneath your nails
As if you had been picking figs and dissecting summer into small
Petri dishes
Divided by weeks and
Differentiated by the color of the steam
Which formed above each
Oval shaped memory
We had visited Pennsylvania
Didn't quite make it to Harrisburg
But we were damn close
