A gauntlet conceals
the magic warmth in your palms;
still, it comes to me.
Your charge remains squeezed
inside the rugged fabrics,
the warmth heating up.
There is no need for
a physical transmittance;
we connect like that.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
A gauntlet conceals
the magic warmth in your palms;
still, it comes to me.
Your charge remains squeezed
inside the rugged fabrics,
the warmth heating up.
There is no need for
a physical transmittance;
we connect like that.
Oh, this is wonderfully compressed: simple yet charged. The details (palms, rugged fabric) anchor it.