For Alan

We held our hands up against the sun.
Our fingers were like Venetian blinds,
Screening the light that gently kissed our cheeks.

Your fingers are long and thin
And they remind me of a fine toothcomb.
Etched on their tips are the worn strings of the guitar that you love to play with.

My fingers are short, pink and moist
And they remind me of a rabbit’s nose.
On their tips, one can still smell traces of lotion.

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