Covenants

My religion is hands steepled,
fingertip to fingertip
and our bones are their congregation
and touch is their prayer,
speechless yet forceful as a blow
or an embrace.
We can carve our ten commandments
on our palms like parchment
and match our scars each time
our hands clasp one another
like an unspoken promise
and a ridged reminder,
an oath that cannot be erased
until our skin has outgrown
and shed words we once found sacred.

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