Poetry

Close by

It’s in the subtle spark as you look at me,

the shadow of a grin,

unsure, nervous, hopeful.

When the group hugs goodbye,

and ours lasts just a fraction longer than everyone else’s.

Standing closer each day, unspoken,

but unable to go unnoticed

by either of us.

It’s in the reach of my hand

and the answering touch of yours.

It’s there when our fingers lock together.

Solid, at last.

 

 

Poetry

Knitted heart

I hold the lines of my heart in my hands.

I stretch them out, red so you can’t miss them,

and splay my fingers so I make a cradle.

Into it you begin to pour yourself,

entangled in this pulsing, beating net

that is me and now you. One. Whole. Us.