A hand held in the dark,
Different than that swinging lope
Of our daylight lark.
The gentle squeeze, comfort, trope.
If I could lace with your
Soft palm, calloused in mine
It would be no chore,
I’d take it as a sign.
That love is a holy mark,
A touch of ashen hope
Staying past a careless remark
Crass but genial snark
We could write our lore
Full of fairies and vines
And when called for more,
Know I will leave your heart my line.
So, may I hold your hand?
As we try throughout to understand?
By Jeremy M. Garnish
Comentários