Fingers

Our fingers are our lives:
Intertwined
Even when not in each other's company,
For I can still feel your fingers
Filling the gaps
In mine.
Our fingers have known each other's grasp
Only for a short time,
Yet they feel lonely-
Incomplete-
Without each other's presence.
When they are together, I can not tell mine from yours.

Our fingers are our lives:
Still, in some way foreign,
Unique and unknown.
My inept hands know not all the details of yours.
For they are concerned not with
The bumps
Or the scratches
Or the imperfections-
For as far as I know now, there are none.
Further inspection, I am sure, would reveal them to me,
But I don't mind.
My fingers would feel yours the same if there were only two.
I know there will be bumps, but I'm concerned more with the overall picture.

Our fingers are our lives.