Holding hands.

memory of walks,
aimless, tracing paths,
those carved out routes,
orbiting another
like astral brutes,
but softly and savoured.

holding hands,
anchored, arced satellite,
stalactite melting
within that warm grip,
finger on finger
in a never-ending winter,

like a good earth clutched,
precious, far from heartache,
heartbreak, or dire, quests,