Take my hand.
Hold tight never cling
Even when we're scared.
Squeeze to ease intensive pain,
Or as a secret sign of your affection.
Casual care became
Handwritten love
Intertwined,
Wrapped neatly,
Fingers tracing
Felt affection.
Touched together:
This is our handmade love.
I love the sense of freedom and unity that holding hands gives. This is about my family. About marriage, about giving birth, about holding the Boo's hand to help him down the stairs, about the Impster reaching for my hand today in the Christmas shopping crowds, about walking along the South Bank with K, about holding my grandmother's hand as she lay dying. Small acts of love which mean everything.
An enigmatic post, I hope that all is well.
ReplyDeleteBless you for your concern. All is well thanks, it's just that I'm a shockingly poor poet and, like a disaffected adolescent, I only find myself writing it in moments of pathos or unbridled romance!
ReplyDelete