The Itch’s Longing, The Hand’s Wile

The itch waits for the hand to scratch
But the hand tarries
The itch lingers 
Then when it is about to give up
The hand reaches out to rub
Gratified, the itch hangs on 
The hand’s retreat is as quick and as unanticipated as its arrival
The itch dawdles again
Desirous than before
As its hope wanes, the hand hovers over it tenderly
The itch’s heart swells with warmth
But only momentarily
For the hand’s withdrawal is as swift and as incalculable as ever
The itch remains perpetually thirsty
Over time the hand's larks multiply the itch's yearning
The hand promises but never quenches the itch’s longing 
The hand has the itch on a leash