Love and the Machine

On calloused skin
her hand rests, an
awkward show of care.
Tracing lines between
small spots of melanin
'till her name appears.
H
O
P
E
Slowly passing time
with the tips of her
fingers softly on
her lovers back,
pushing down fast,
thought of impending
morning and approaching
goodbyes.
Sometimes the sun isn't
the biggest thing in the sky.
Tossing through sheets
and wires, trying not to
unplug the last semblance
of her name from love,
and the machine.