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Saturday, March 12, 2011

Your Hand

Long ago I traced those knuckles

Of that hand lying quietly

Slung over my shoulder

At the end of your muscled forearm

Arched in delight as it brushed my cheek,

Grazed my newly offered breast

Long ago I traced those knuckles

Of that hand, wiped away my blood

With a cold wetted white cloth

Held ice to purpling bruises

Raising in the aftermath of the

Silencing of some words not

To your liking

Long ago I traced those knuckles

Cajoling caterwauling regret

Back through rage, back through passion

To lie quiet and protective over

my shoulder in the circle of your strength

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