Hands: A Poem

He could flip his palm
And grow a daisy,
Enrich my body with
Nutrients
In every touch.

He built me a greenhouse
To watch me grow.

In daylight I could see
But I leaned into the night carefully.

Like a planter turned toward the sun
You made me face the moon,
A hand reaching down from the stars,
Our own photosynthesis.

He could flip his palm
And grow a zinnia,
Enrich my body with
Vitamins
In every touch.

I bloomed
In his presence.

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