Fact: I have five fingers on one hand

now but I can remember

when your five spider-latched onto mine


to glide over the world with more surface

area. Fact: you told me the universe is chronicled

in braille but our spider-hands


could decode it without touching.

Fact: my vision is foggy

still but your reading glasses crept


into my gaze, sliced

into my retina and slurped

away the blurriness. Your clarity


was parasitic;

your fact too faultlessly

seamless to be real.