Out Of Order (a Poem)
Here is your face
Solid and soft
I’ll cradle it in my
Fingers, and sorry
About my rough hands
They work more than
You might think.
Here is your grip
Strong and gentle
And I’ll slip
My fingers through yours
And the cracks in my
palm will match
Yours.
Here is your love
Good and bad
It makes you you
You know.
And I’ll take it.