My Poetry: your Hands

Your Hands

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Your fingers,
trace my cheek
where tears had been,
as your body
envelopes mine,
I am vulnerable, again.

Your hands,
like water and sun
to wilting daisy
in parched savannah,
has awakened life
inside of me.

Before you came:
before warm
touch of palm
refreshed diluted body,
I was just another
museless poet.

But your fingers,
oh, how your fingers enthrone
this pauper's heart
to mighty king;
turn abstract being
to flesh and blood, again.