“The poem is in my hands, and can run stories through her hands.”

“For a moment, she was quiet. Then she grabbed my hand, whispered, “Run run run run run,” and took off, pulling me behind her.”

“Trust her gut? Her gut was currently telling her to run her hands through Tristan’s dark hair.She wasn’t so sure her gut was reliable.”

“I thought about how I'd held her in my arms and run my hand through her hair, along her cheeks, and down her neck, how her lower lip opened just slightly when I brushed my fingers against her breast...”

“I took her hand in mine, not the way I used to hold hers as a child, but with our fingers woven together. And we strode through the archway of emperors and into the open -- hand in hand, my mother and I.”

“Would you walk to the edge of the oceanJust to fill my jar with sandJust in case I get the notionTo let it run through my hand”