February 26, 2017 by Rosemerry
Like a boot takes the shape
of the foot that wears it, I imagine
my hand might come to take the shape
of yours, your hand—something
I was made to hold, made to move with,
made to let go.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged hands, letting go, love, poem, poetry | 1 Comment
Love this one, Rosemerry.
And, oooooh, that last line, those four little words. Yowtch!
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Blog at WordPress.com.