Our Touch

My darling, it is in our touch—
In our softest joy. Our fingers gracefully
Lace into the textures of love
Our flowering muse in speech;
All colors of berries and stars.
It is in our prayer with summer lips
That which tears apart the seams
Of fate- and one lilting star
Brightens our hair—falling
Slowly between our embrace.

by Masiela Lusha

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