July 6, 2019
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hands
someday maybe you will see me
flying through the frosty woods
of memory, my eyes wide open
fixed far beyond the horizonmy pupils searching for
something luminous and lost
maybe you will see me
washed up on memory's moist beach
beside a track of lonely footprintsmaybe you will feel my hands
lightly tickle your ribs like fins
as i swim through your heart's
red coral reef, my fingers destroyed
by pure love,because my hands have always
been my best languagemaybe you will see me
stroking the petals of a blushing rose
or caressing your haphazardly cast shadow
by the waterlily pond of memory
where moonlight overflows into the meadowmy hands will tell you in my best language
beauty is a continuous creation
that knows no gender
not bound by tradition or discipline
love is invisible, indomitable, and timeless
when spoken in the softest touch of hands
Comments (2)
across the boredom
wheat gray shorts,
in the morning
i get up, i am who (whom)
shadows shake hands (with)
i am along for the short
ride, barebacked with guts
saddling up to shaving,
razors sink to sharp edges
of my mouth, hands across
a broader expanse of ex-
pensive cologne..(bad spelling
of perfume!)...trumpets can (not)
be aloud to waken the masses:
gratitude...seems to be attitude!
baroque batteries' (wha?)
with two attempts at timeout
fingers do the types where no-
man culture hands off flint rocks
i thank you...
seconds are exquisite time:
minutes are momentarily wasted:
clothing is optional:
hands across
broader
ideals
life
body
soul
feel
whims
delights
by having
gone where (no
hands) have gone before
across the boredom
wheat gray shorts,
in the morning
i get up, i am who (whom)
shadows shake hands (with)
i am along for the short
ride, barebacked with guts
saddling up to shaving,
razors sink to sharp edges
of my mouth, hands across
a broader expanse of ex-
pensive cologne..(bad spelling
of perfume!)...trumpets can (not)
be aloud to waken the masses:
gratitude...seems to be attitude!
baroque batteries' (wha?)
with two attempts at timeout
fingers do the types where no-
man culture hands off flint rocks
i thank you...
seconds are exquisite time:
minutes are momentarily wasted:
clothing is optional:
hands across
broader
ideals
life
body
soul
feel
whims
delights
by having
gone where (no
hands) have gone before
7/7/2019
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