her hand – a wonderful poem written by a mother for her daughter for Valentine’s day…

girl in the hat

her hand by anna fonté

hot & solid in my hand, when i hold hers i grip a hunk of liquid crystal baked in sun
it worms into me, swimming veins, up to my armpit
where it curls inside my chest
and so i press her fingers to steady the flutter.
but also, there is the wonder
is it
herwarmth or mine or ours together
that radiates from our grip & into the air around us
to form a pocket of energy, a fierce iridescence
trembling strength?
& when we walk like that, who’s holding whom

her handinmy hand, mine in hers
the place where we meet, the flesh of our connection
no, it is a fusion
& if we wore  mood rings, they’d be indigo, inky as the night sky, brimming with milky galaxies & dark holes of ayahuascan wonder, infinite & ineffable, inscribed inside with two…

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