Hands

After the shock she stopped crying.
Her hand still bleeding and the pain,
Began to set its own rhythm
Throbbing as it bled.

Reluctantly she offered it to him.
Flinching as he cleaned and swabbed.
His face hidden by the sunlight.

And her fingers that knew of books and softness,
Felt his fingers on hers.
Her fingers yielding to his touch,
As he probed the crimson wound.
Each notch and mark a surprise,
As he wove the gauze about her.
Her own hand now seemed lost to her,
Bound in his, free, but unwilling to fly.

Her hand fell quieter now.
The pain receding and his hands,
That lay on her slipping away,
Tying the knot, smiling at each other.

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