Your hands look soft, like the formation of a memory
Slowly molding it
Wet clay that will crystallize to look fondly upon
"And with remorse," she atoned "With bitterness"
"Yes," I reckoned
But your eyes could never manufacture such a memory
"How do you know?"
She looked at her hands, small on her lap
"Because they are beautiful."
She smiled
She was already knitting a keepsake memory
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
Your hands look soft, like the formation of a memory
Slowly molding it
Wet clay that will crystallize to look fondly upon
"And with remorse," she atoned "With bitterness"
"Yes," I reckoned
But your eyes could never manufacture such a memory
"How do you know?"
She looked at her hands, small on her lap
"Because they are beautiful."
She smiled
She was already knitting a keepsake memory