Holding your hand

Like a finely woven basket, with fibers of gleaming gold.
Our fingertips tease each other, dancing along our knuckles.
The skin of our palms lay close, embracing each others warmth.
I feel your heartbeat pump in hands, your fingers plump with blood.

Your skin smooth, like stones washed in the river.
Your grip gentle, like a delicate garb of lace or silk.
Your touch tantalizing, like a warm wind sifting through me.

If you pull away, my fibers will be revealed for straw, left in disarray.
My fingers will be frigid in the absence of your presence.
If our palms are separate, they will be cold and lonely, left in solitude.
My heartbeat will grow weary with occasional pulses barely felt.

Though in accordance to our bodies our hands must come apart,
When God joins our hearts in His, we will hold hands in our hearts until the day we die.

Holding your hand

Nick Runckel

Toledo, United States

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hands holding

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