Original Poetry

Learn Me

Of all the hands
I could ever want
to hold,
it fundamentally comes
down to yours.
I want to hold your hand
on a cold, harsh winter’s evening,
and wrap it up in my own hands,
with my fingertips tracing
your veins
under a blanket of stars.
I want to hold your hand
as we climb up hills and roads
in hot countries,
where the sun burns as brightly
as your soul does when
I’m with you.
I want to guide your hands
to all
the untouched parts
of me.
I want your hands
to learn me.

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