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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "She held me tenderly in her arms"

She left me on the boardwalk with my head held in my hands.
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She asked me to read her a poem
her arms around me
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
I don't like her because she won't like me
The portion of her face she allows me to see
Her sleeves ride up on her arms when she moves
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
she gave her heart to a falling star
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
she, he, and me
Two condoms, she makes me wear
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
She kissed me gently, just once, then walked away crying
She saved me from Hylas' fate
Tell him, she told me
She misses me
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
She Will Have Her Way
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
The stars were bright that night she left me forever
She only wants me for sex
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
Is it fair for him to love me when she craves his touch?
She might not need me. But then again she might.
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
She told me to say that
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
when still her eyes held water
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
At night, her eyes closed, she would
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
She thought about giving him her heart
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
Take Her in Your Arms
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
She just looks at me
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
She loved me for my maths
There is nothing growing here, in the space between she and me
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
I would have tried, but Charlotte kept Charlotte in the world of Charlotte and she barely heard me
She writes notes to me, to keep me in check
She cleaned up for me at least.
I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
that's where she lost me as I began imagining my family amongst blood-dripped hedges
She Blinded Me With Science
She said she loved me. The knife came down.
She always confused her greys with white.
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
Performing her communion with quick slashes up and down her arm
she had already found her party
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
She practices her speech
let her take me, feed on me, devour me
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
she lit her thumb on fire
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
She Loves Me
She Fucks Me
That one makes me scream, she said
She told me I'd make a good Satan
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
She pulled the "I love you" on me
She only wants me for tech support
She wakes me up by tickling my feet
She who makes the Moon the Moon and, whenever she is full, sets the dogs to howling all night long, and me with them.
She loves me, she loves me not
I put my head down and hoped to God she wasn't looking at me
She kills me
She told me I looked like a Henry, and this is how she would know me
She is stupidly keeping herself a secret, when I know she has sparkly things to show me
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She doesn't need me anymore
She may be pretty and have more money than me but she doesn't write songs about you.
She loved me for my brains not my body. It's what zombies do.
She is still undoing me.
she seems bored with me after all this time
she looked at me then whispered, we are all made of stardust
She handed me my first sharpened pencil.
She tells me she drives a truck.
She taught me some moves, including stealthy exits.
She's smarter than me but she's also more quiet, therefore she has no personality which makes me feel better
She asked me to stop dreaming of death
My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me
She looks at me and she laughs
she spent the night gingerly peeling me off the moon.
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
She flies with her own wings
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
Bathe her and bring her to me
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
I would like for you to make your arms for me the way you make your bed for you
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
She was never mine. I always shared her.
serene. She sips her tea
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
Her photography captured little beautifuls and me
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
does she need to touch her own face to know?
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
She always was devious in her beauty
Anna and her Mother: spinning me in circles
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
waiting for his arms to fold like wings around her
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
her hate keeps me warm. her shadows keep me guessing.
the way she wears her weary
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Now she's in my doorway, accusing me with her soft breasts and long legs, strong hips.
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
knots and ribbons at the ends of her arms
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
Don't tell me about her
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
I asked her not to forget me
She knows no truth except her own.
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
As if it were the arm of someone who'd pulled me back from speeding traffic.
She approached me with some vague line
She said she loved me
She dumped me when she found out I'd been faking my Scottish accent
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
When the Dancer Holds the Sun in Her Arms
She keeps her lies everywhere
Gaily they went down in the lush field a treasure of valuables or specie or bullion lodged with a crust of bread into her coat of arms weaving currying the embroidering of silk in summer.
Trace a map along her arm

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