the weave our hearts sew

Her hand rests snug in mine

synchronized fingers slip

into perfect symmetry

of interlocking flesh and bone.

Lightly knuckles fold

an affectionate clamp.

Tips softly caress then settle,

thumbs overlap

crux over hinge.

Her delicate palm,

tender smooth,

lays engulfed upon

my cold slab

weathered, welted, rough worn.

My hand feels older than I

as it guiltily draws warmth

through the touch of her cushioned skin.

The difference balances

as both blend as one

joining in simple physical unity;

the weave our hearts sew.

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This entry was posted in Creative writing, poems, poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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