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Yucca wind cuts through my coat, the markers blur and fade. I rode a while on golden dice and now I walk in gray. The sun still hangs, a blistered coin, A whisper left of heat. I shake dust from a hollow skull and drift on tired feet. Cantinas hum their broken hymns, the meek slip into pews, they trade their vows for bottle rims and saviors they can use. The stew’s been warmed and left to cool, her smile is soft and deep. I pull a blanket to her chin, watchover while she sleeps. Their toys lie mute in cedar drawers, their shoes set by the door, and she still scrubs the cracking tile as if we could make more. I left my heart in a canyon’s jaw, too hard to dig it free, and let the desert keep it warm, the way her hands keep me.
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Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 8:07 PM UTC
The Way Her Hands Keep Me
Yucca wind cuts through my coat, the markers blur and fade. I rode a while on golden dice and now I walk in gray. The sun still hangs, a blistered coin, A whisper left of heat. I shake dust from a hollow skull and drift on tired feet. Cantinas hum their broken hymns, the meek slip into pews, they trade their vows for bottle rims and saviors they can use. The stew’s been warmed and left to cool, her smile is soft and deep. I pull a blanket to her chin, watchover while she sleeps. Their toys lie mute in cedar drawers, their shoes set by the door, and she still scrubs the cracking tile as if we could make more. I left my heart in a canyon’s jaw, too hard to dig it free, and let the desert keep it warm, the way her hands keep me.
William-A-Gibson
Written by
M/Cambria CA
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 8:07 PM UTC
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