About a Flower
I had thought no God could hold me
the way your hands do.
I feared the image I was created in
But if you were carved from the same stone
that made me,
if the same hands that grafted my heart
designed yours,
then maybe he did once hold me sweetly,
kiss my face,
and bless me that I can be more than my anger.
I feared the image I was created in,
until I saw it created you.
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