Skin like butterfly wings
Transparent over veins below
Darkened at intervals by the sun
It felt small, too small
Each bone in perfect relief against my flesh
Worry, at the strength of my fingers
How many times I had held that hand in just that way
Never noticing that in time your hand was wrapped in mine
Fingers, twisted as tree limbs
Fonts of pain but also such beauty
I spent years watching them twist Simple thread into so many things beautiful
Now, stillness
Unnatural quiet
No more the flutter of life beneath my touch
I held your hand
As you grew cold

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