Crescent Moons

I held your small hand in mine,

dimples where knuckles should be,

and cut with curved silver scissors

tiny slivers of fingernail

that fell on the deep blue carpet

to make a sky full 

of crescent moons.

After, we put our hands together,

your hand only covered my palm,

you spread your fingers wide

to try and make it grow as big as mine.

Now it has

your nails are private.

Our palms no longer kiss.