Open your hand

In the crowd,
A hand gently placed
On a back, a whispered hi.

Oh, here you are – he says.
A kiss so brief
So long their last kiss goodbye.

And then – Open your hand,
he adds.

She lends him a curious palm
A sweet perhaps? What could it be?
And as he passes the precious secret
His hand as warm as the night before,
She grips the little object
Discovering its shape and purpose,
Its disguise.

Until the warmth of a late embrace
Envelops her just like the folds
That in the night hid her lost necklace.

Slawka G. Scarso