I want to frame your perfection
in a box
and throw you off a cliff.

His hands,
His hands,
He didn't have the right hands.

They weren't shaped right,
They weren't the right size,
They didn't feel right pressed against my body.
His hands didn't cup my ******* with love.
They didn't look like those of a strong man.

I've dreamed of these hands since I was young,
And I don't know why.
I haven't been able to find the right ones.

The right touch,
The right grasp,
The right hands.

I can see the veins,
Pressing against the surface of his skin.
The small lines sprawled across his palms.
His fingers a certain length,
His knuckles a certain size.
His hands,
The right ones.

Man of my dreams,
Only in my dreams,
His hands in my heart,
His hands the right hands.

If it's a sin
to keep things interesting,
let's misbehave.

My heart's borders stretch beyond
The coast
The east
the mountains.

There are gardens in this place.
Althrough we've been stomped.
We will turn upwards again.

We are the flowers,
Dashed pockets of life or light
Up turned to the sun.

And bloom