Hold on tight, love.
Tattoo half moons
into your palms,
white-knuckled
hairpin-curved
fingers, clenched.
Do not loosen your grip,
though your hands
grow weary
and blood springs
from the crescents
you have dug there.
Hold on,
my darling.
Pull taut the rope
that anchors
you to me,
but do not be
swept away.
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