HANDS

I want hands,
warm creeping hands
tenacious, tentacles that cling like vines and
linger on the memories of my flesh....
Hands as mysterious as midnight,
Soft as the edges of darkness
finding their way solely by touch and feel
across the mountains and valleys of wanting.
Give me hands tamed by aching and misadventure,
broken in the middle of loves effort,
scarred from the cuts of trying.....
Hands still throbbing with hunger
and willingness to risk in spite of it all.
Hands that ascend the ladder of love
one lesson at a time.
I want hands, I want skin to skin
soft as the edges of darkness,
mysterious as midnight.

9/17/08

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

Here, mine are kind of old, but they know where the hurts are, and they come cheap...

[J]

I find I often look at someone's hands to see what kind of person they are and what kind of life they lead; you can tell so much, almost as much as eyes, what they're into and what they've done with themselves. And that was the allure that lead me to this piece, if you must know, and an allure that you share with me effortlessly.

As comforters and explorers of bodies and landscapes, the experience is always a wild ride.

Very sensual.

(And thank you for your comments and sorry for the tardy reply... just haven't really been here much).

[Anarda Nashai]

"Hands that ascend the ladder of love"

This line is EXTRAORDINARY...as is the entire poem. You're imagination is wonderful...your descriptive taste very mature. I absolutely love this write. Great job!!!

-Anarda Nashai
author of Despondent
Check out my website at:
www.anardanashai.webs.com!

[Wildfleour]

You are simply an amazing poet. I love, love, love this!