You'll Be In My Hands
in more ways than one...
You’ll be in my hands,
where these rough palms soften into armour,
a hush of promise braced against the night.
My fingers knit a bulwark round your heartbeat,
steady as stone, patient as first light.
I carry storms away like spare change,
turning chaos quiet with one slow squeeze.
You are braver, warmer in that shelter.
Yet you’ll be in my hands,
slick with want, bolder than breath,
heat circling heat until names erode.
My grip slips from shield to shiver,
each pulse a door I unlock by feel.
Safety sharpens into hunger,
and all that remains to protect
is the sweet, bright ruin we make of each other.
