Short and Sweet and to the Point.

Your hands were little
but that did not
reflect
how much I needed
to hold them.

One slipped
into mine
and two separate
cold hands
turned warm and wakeful,
instantly.

Those hands adjust
your glasses;
They fiddle with
my hair,

They sift and surf
through chilly water,
and pull rocks
from the receding sand

Those hands trembled
next to mine,
our skin glued
at hip, knee, and shoulder,
And all in between,
and down to toes.

Suddenly
the cold ran off
into the night
and left me with ever-emerging stars.

uneclipsed by
inundations back home.
They gave me something
I could not find
anywhere else.

2012