Love is an open hand
     sweaty
     flat
pulsing with something alive underneath
     unfolded
     empty
lined with wrinkles and softness
     tightening
     insisting
waiting to be claimed and shaped
     its own lazy curve
     its own flexing strength
it cries with too much silence
     fill me
     hold me
     paint me
     warm me

by K. J. , Arlington, MA