Promises

He stood before me.

I watched his hands.  Insufferably

elegant

for one such as he.

 

Hands undo me, after all.

 

Nails so neatly clipped.

Soft, slender fingers

too delicate for a man

such as he.

 

And I thought the move much too graceful

as he reached inside his pocket,

   considering the slight tremor I watched flutter

vibrations surrounding us

         colours sacrificially bleaching  to

desert bones

 

Looking up.  into his eyes

I understood

      of course

And wondered

at the flight of fancy I’d allowed myself

 

Those beautiful fingers and

what I knew he disguised there.  A single one.

Just one.

“I can’t do this.”

 

~~

 

Paris is flawless in the Spring.  It held me

that year in delicate, elegant divulgence

shortening my breath

absolving broken glasses

         extenuating circumstances

 

And when I returned

his hands

were

calloused.  And surly.

 

I stepped back

in my colourful bioluminescence

watching the gracefulness of my

own fingers reaching ...

 

“I won't do this . . .”

Reviews

[Moflo]

I love the way this poem escalated. The weathering of "his" fingers really speaks a lot, rather Paris crippled his artistic charm or he has lost some form of innocence, either way, it was depicted brilliantly. I personally saw him as a soldier in war, but it can be interpreted different ways. Very nicely written! Great work!

[Debbie_Philly]

Very Eloquent.... and I swear I was in Paris while reading it... great job conveying the feeling here... I really enjoyed this !!

[shultzfeather]

depth of sensitivity dimension
ooo oh great transition-killer
Me, trapped in it, double bolt clicked shut

[J.P. Bristow]

why do you write heartbreak and sheer agony sooooooo damn well......I could weep with the sheer beauty of this piece. I hope the artist is taking full liberty here but if it is life in art....he was not fit for the courage and grace of which you embody dear one.

[Wolfwind Words]

This piece speaks of time and memory. How we see a moment as we had lived it and then when we walk that memory again and compare it to the now, it's often altered and evolved, so that our minds wish to return to the original.

Fantastically woven ink!
Wolfie

[Patient Poet (Yos)]

I love fingers and toes , always tell me about the person , more than words , sometimes more than face ... fingers , mostly gentle , for touching , what else can be wrong , when you have a gentle fingers ... all just start the way it should .... and Paris ... what a wonderful place , how romantic ... your poem took me back to the most romantic city , how wonderful you was able to get back and check the fingers again ... have they told you a diffreent story ... have they ever told you the true?

[.........]

I agree with Mike! I love the escalating poetry. I cannot find a problem in this poem that I can critique. It's not nearly what I was expecting, and I'm glad. "Expect the unexpected", your writing is really good!

[SAAD AHMED]

just magnificent

[Desert Dreamer]

Such beautiful hands, I love to look at people's hands...so much going on between the lines here, a story told. I enjoy the way I can read between the lines and fill in my own details.

[Night]

wow.....

[Gobinder Singh Dhindsa]

Its very nice writing. I like whole poem.
Keep it up!
Do read mine too ANGUISH...
god bless you.. Lucky!