This is my sad, sad attempt to write poetry for my English class - there's a reason I don't write poetry. God...ick.
In the dark of the room, two arms, both thin, share an armrest
elbow to elbow, wrist to wrist,
their owners obscured by the chair backs.
A flash of fatal light and a loud 'boom'
cause the hand with the chipped nail polish to flinch.
The arm with the leather-cuffed wrist reaches over
covering the back of the other hand.
Slowly, the bare wrist turns,
stopping only when its palm faces upwards.
Now it's palm to palm and as the fingers lace together,
the two separate arms melt together.