They landed with a thump,
and seemed to writhe around
for some prolonged seconds
on the dull, harsh concrete.
Until you saved them.
Until, you cupped them
in your rough pink hands,
brushed the loose specks
of dirt from their candid skin
and held them close.
You pronounced their every
corner and crevice;
ran your index along
the texture of them, puzzled
their meaning carefully,
and pondered still
as my breath quivered.
The lump in my throat;
the aviary in my stomach;
the tremors in my fingers,
melted in your comfort
and hung on your every word.
