Dust

I hold
your cheek
in these paper
thin hands.
Skin like
baby powder
folding onto
itself.
So fragile
I fear you will
disintegrate
under my touch.
You warm
my fingers
with whispered
rosaries and
reassurances.
I comfort
and am comforted
in the same
exhalation.
Neither of us
knew
it would be
my skin to fall
first to dust.

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