She cracked the dry seed pod open,
tipped the tiny black seeds into my hand,
closing my fingers around them—
a secret we both knew would not grow here.
Did she close my fingers to keep them safe,
or to make sure that I would feel them slip away?
I let go of the seeds—
but I kept the shape of her fingers closed around mine.
Shared with Poets and Storytellers United #229 – Letting go
1994ever 
This is beautiful Shaun, I won’t remember all the words later but as I read your verse this morning, your words have touched my emotions and that feeling lingers 💞Suzanne
LikeLike
How lovely, and how intriguing!
LikeLike
The image of the seeds slipping away yet the touch remaining is so moving. Beautiful poem
LikeLike
I love that question
LikeLike