They were her hands,
Destined for pleasure.
Fingers tied knots
Ringed with gold,
And pointed the way
For growing old.
Palms held petals,
Bows, ribbons
And pages;
Wrists watched
The measured time
Of keys and games;
Wrapped packaged treasures,
Opened doors.
They were small
Determined hands,
Covered in flour
White skin
Powdering her face,
Inviting
Me in.
Hands held in supplication,
Joy and despair;
Hands in need
Of salvation.
Like leaves on
Autumn branches
That branches
Can't hold,
Her hands
Lost their grip,
Then closed
And fell cold.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
They were her hands,
Destined for pleasure.
Fingers tied knots
Ringed with gold,
And pointed the way
For growing old.
Palms held petals,
Bows, ribbons
And pages;
Wrists watched
The measured time
Of keys and games;
Wrapped packaged treasures,
Opened doors.
They were small
Determined hands,
Covered in flour
White skin
Powdering her face,
Inviting
Me in.
Hands held in supplication,
Joy and despair;
Hands in need
Of salvation.
Like leaves on
Autumn branches
That branches
Can't hold,
Her hands
Lost their grip,
Then closed
And fell cold.
