The Uneasy Twist

I wrapped my fingers around brass,

loose, lazy, turning on a spindle worn thin.

The wobble mocked my grip,

catching then slipping,

a hesitation that unsettled.

The door creaked a tired protest,

a whispered refusal to fully yield.

Late and weary, I felt the unease—

that nervous flicker beneath skin

where control slips just enough

to raise the hackles of a moment.