3 hands


kidding hands,
an autocorrection title,
was supposed to be
kissing hands but either works

man overcome with an elixir of Sunday bed warming/charming/chilling, lukewarm "hot" coffee,
melodious love songs inducing
languorously hand-to-mouth,
five finger fore play love making

a potpourri of knuckle gnawing and gentling kisses
upon a hand borrowed from the a tablet holder,
while she reads the paper bemoaning the sorry state
of the world, the government permissions bad guys...
and weeps for the world we are leaving behind

a mood changer with 100% effectiveness

newspapers- a safe *** condiment

think I'll reheat my coffee

<•>

my hand

she cant sleep knows that I'm up at 2:08am composing.  
and showed her earlier today
the kidding hands poem
just as the lights were going down, downtown on
William's Measure For Measure

so at 2:09am her hand snakes over and wrap itself
around my thumb as if she was weaning an infant from
what infants like doing, or weaning grownup old men like me from doing at 2:09am, what they should be best leaving alone,
like writing poetry or it could just be the woman
pseudo-******* a poets thumb as a way of saying
can't sleep head buzzing and in between I love the
livening lying of living with your hands thumb in me

<•>
the facement of your hands*

dr. mandy is handy with a needling drink of boo boo bo-toxin
that auto corrects the face's reflecting times drawing upon it,
our bodies facement; an effacement I suppose, or maybe a
defacement.  

very little to be done to keep the *hands couture covering
from revealing what devolutionary year it is for you: why I write of the facement of your hands and why I kiss them, your hands,
lovingly, hoping the natural  toxins on my lips can ****** their aging,
and if they can't, then it is a great way of saying
I love you

<•>
  2:53am

Feel it now, I touch the tender flesh that's crammed between my tea stained bones. My legs are throbbing, from running in circles, trying to stay on your tail.
But the flesh was stripping from my bones with every sprint I took.
Veins throbbing, I felt like crumbling.
I saw nothing but your shadow then, taunting me as you danced backwards away from me, your crescent smile left the only moon illuminating my dark.
It was faint and fast, gone leaving me in an oblivion of nothing.
Feel it now, I touch the tender flesh that's crammed between my tea stained bones.
Shin splints. Painful with every step I attempt to take, eventually my muscles will heal, sure,
Yet I'm still out of breath. Yet my heart is still racing. Yet I can't seem to catch a break.

Who are you and why? 

And why do you like to pry? 

Your way into those helpless and vulnerable.

Remember those rolling hills we once stood above, now mudslides of regret and lost hope for what once was. 

You’re a wreck.
But now I am too.. all special thanks to you.

They say opposites attract, but then again, I guess that was never actually fact.

I’m a soft rubber ball that bounces away from the bad, and you’re a sharp pin pricking those who come close and it’s sad.

Those gentle souls you desecrated out of your own will to manipulate. 
May they be in the back of your mind always, to torture you while you contemplate. 

I hope some day regret washes over you, as your ego dies and you become whole again, new.

Then, maybe you’d be incapable of inflicting pain on those who hoped to love you, and finally stop causing chaos and spread love in lieu.

I love to watch how the blades of grass, dance with the wind and tickle our calves,
   February days like these, where the skies at around 5 in the eve,
Start to look like watercolor paintings, of the best hues of pinks and blues, are but simply amazing.
   With our hearts in tow, we reach the peak and take in the vastness of the land and lifelines before us.
   Stretching for miles, we imagine ourselves, on these rolling hills, that is is our Kingdom and we stand mighty above it.
   Soaking in the beams of translucent gold that cascade from the edges of the clouds and shower us in their warmth.
   The feeling of the sun's rays seeping into our pores, made me wish we were rooted into the crust beneath us, like the flowers we had just been aquainted with moments before.
   As the sun sets, it changes the reflects in your eyes from what was a brilliant amber, to a smooth medium roast, just like the coffee you drink.
Your soft caramel tufts fall freely with no direction upon your forehead.
   It's days like these, on these rolling hills, that demand my attention.
It's the smiles, and the laughs that we share, that remind me why it's so, okay, to feel.