What little conviction I have
of contingent circumstances;
the capacity of the divine being
that exists the moment
the rain kissed a desert,
the distance the thread needs
to advance to pass through
a needle's demure smile,
the utter surrender of the earth
when it exhales,
the instant the bonsai
accepts its height.

Under the golden light
we held each other's hands
picking up each other's darkness
perfecting every detail of our kiss.
Only to let our hearts brim with bliss.

- Cristine Despares

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