“My fingers yearn to blend with yours…”


Beneath our awning of branches I whisper to recall your wondrous words,
shy mouth, bitten lip, sentences spill and drift into the rose-inked sullen sky.

I stretch to reclaim them, sorry eyes fixed on the niveous syllables until
they’re with me again, nursed by blushing hands to be brought to your chest.

Will you be here soon? My fingers yearn to blend with yours in
an embrace so safe, so sound. I’m waiting still, aching to be found.

You said you’d come. I wear your promises like charms upon
the curve of my wrist. Your apologies, petals, in the thread of my hair.

What a thought you are, to be fallen into by the river where you
swam against the current of tears and screams that rang around you.

Yet still I wait for you to rise out of broken winter soil, if only
you would. I’d love you so completely, make sure you never spoil.

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