The Width of a Warm Hand

Love flits
just a little beyond
friendship, only the width
of a warm hand.
Like knights facing war,
such an honor
it grants. So little
beyond a smile in the morning
but so far out beyond
the stretch of my fingers.
Love is a killer
making impossible what
is now routine,
obliterating the anchors.
Joys just beyond
friendship, just beyond
finger tips.