Poetry · Writing

late night massage

you’re hands are a blessing;

washing away the fear

tracing your fingers along my worries

pushing your thumbs deep into my anxiety

flowing away-

falling asleep in your grasp

an angel pulling a bow back back deep into my heart

chop chop and depression won’t raise his hands to you

never lay a hand on my honey

all over my back, warmed

holding the arrow

asleep with your hands

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