Fingertips

In the quiet clasp of her hands, I sense more of her touch.

Fear hums faintly beneath skin’s warmth.

Each pulse a confession, unspoken and clear.

Every tremor tells me where pain hides.

Love lingers, shy- between our palms.

Through your grasp, I feel your sorrow.

Hope flickers- small, but alive.

Every heartbeat writes its truth against mine.

Time slows; our fingers become translators of souls.

Underneath your calm, I feel the still of the earth.

Relief, regret, and yearning weave together.

My skin mirrors your ache, searching for your peace.

Our hands hold the weight of what words cannot.

I know you without speaking.

Listening- my fingertips understand.