Ours

The warmth of a promise
And how it takes shape,
Coalescing into intimate form,
Its color only known 
By the ones who professed it
Because these are our the hands that sired it,
These are our the words that became its first breath,
And the moment our those fingers interlaced,
Time became still, but  our its heartbeat grew louder 
By the second, as it will always will,
So long as our the promise stays warm.