delicate white silk woven too quickly,
small bumps interrupting the low tide of her body's river,
fingers brushing; connecting the dots; charting a map
open mouths gasping for each other's air, exhaling shared ghosts.
exchanged grief makes not for sweet silences to fill the distance between two healing hearts,
change pained kisses for quiet embraces,
or reluctant touches for hands held for safe-keeping.
for she is not the bandage, but the suture.
