Tell myself it is okay taking my own hand

My own, less lascivious, version of the stranger as these benumbed right-sided fingers interlace with their left-sided doppelgangers. If I allow my vision to blur as I gaze at them holding each other, I can almost imagine one belongs to you. Ah, but both of yours are myriad mile markers away, right down to the last metacarpal. Several sets of prints, however, still remain. Most have already been dusted, photographed, and logged into evidence, yet some are still waiting to be exhumed. Would that you would dare to leave more, but I know better than to get too greedy. A dog in possession of one bone must not too eagerly snap at another one he may see reflected back at him, for he could drop the one he has and be left empty-snouted, forever peering into the water.