Your hands, strong and steady
when I am neither.
You wrap yourself around me
and I suffocate in your
warmth until I forget how to be
anything but yours.

Your hands, selfless and skilled
in the art of holding others’
weight. They carry more
than they were designed for,
but never shake.

Your hands, soft and subtle
on my skin. I feel the
creases in your palm
as it glides back and forth,
etching your story for me to
read when I lose
track of my own.

Your hands, more than
hands. Ocean tides
that ripple across the earth
and leave people questioning
what they were ever
afraid of.


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