In this tiny pinky finger The smallest of all, holds the greatest of fates. So I'm told. Funny how the little finger is used. Its digits fragile in comparison. The oddly notion that it has the most strength. Somehow, it grasps a little red piece of string, fiery in all it's glory. A cord designed to withstand seasons and the tides of time. Somehow, it's straight and tangled. A beautiful web of loops and holes filled with destinations and environments. Times I have kissed you. Will kiss you. Wont kiss you. Places knitted in Fabrics of dimension and the magnificence seconds, piled high To the brim of clockmakers and cartographers. I pull, you follow. You stretch, I fill in the gaps. we twist and turn, bend and run, swoop and stand still, fall and lift up Miles away and up close, in dreams and conscious awake All of that movement, yet it still does not break. And did it not even come close to undone? Never. Didn't we Become one entangled in skin an