Take my hand stranger,
for thy hand fits perfectly in mine
for there is no reason to be insecure

The lines of our hands cross each other, floating rivers meeting, like an estuary, passionately touching,  but never perfectly fitting (as real love should be)
Our nails glancing to each other; the same happens when your blue eyes meet my greenies
Our skins stunning each other,  blushing, softening the insecurities they both feel
Our joints silly wrestling with each other; O the subtle touch of them

Take my hand stranger,
for thy hand fits perfectly in mine
for there is no reason to be insecure