I stare at your hand as you drive butterflies crawling up my throat I know you dangle your hand between us as a silent invitation for me so sweet but yet still I’m scared because I’ve been turned away and left behind enough to mar my skin in burning scars. But you break through my thoughts and these aged walls…
I’d hold your hand trace my finger along the crook of your elbow to the curve of your shoulder the hills and valley of your chest the slope of your neck to the tussles of your soft, cinnamon hair. -November 2016 Photo Credit