it is no longer midnight and his hands are back on my skin; they pull at my flesh so differently to my own inept in cold comparison his open palms spill over with a warmth i had forgotten thawing my aching bones as it dribbles over my body the surface becomes slippery i am crying not for fear; but reverence as i bow to my knees in devotion and then i am laughing my sobs a wobbly smile i worry about the crinkle beside my eyes how very tired i am and hope the lamplight is forgiving but then he looks at me and i know that none of it will ever matter because his body cradles my own shaking and shy and i am safe; caught on the softness of his worn down fingertips as they kneed at the tender space of velvet lining my thighs the softness beside my knee these are the hands i would know in the dark their hardened edges each mark a dedication, a resolve if i close my eyes they are still there always always there and now i am in his hands again so i lean back you wouldn’t let me fall would you? then i let go i let go and as i fall i am held in all that he is and in my own hands i hold my world finally, i am home
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