One Glove

I have tried on many lives
Grooves of the world split down each finger
That, when placed down on paper,
Would be set to a whole range of soundtracks.

My hand has created outlines,
Drawing planets; leaving gaps
For interpretation -
Soaking influence from our interface
Constellations of corpuscles
As we stretch
And fall to
The rhythm of
Breathing.
It's symbiotic,
Swaying like the tidal strokes of the moon
So that, in times of embrace,
I wonder where I end and you begin -

Did I fit you or did you fit me?