Felling rusty  crusty spoons
And nettles upon my *******
I speak to my cohort
Hubert cumberdale
It's almost ******* I say

I was taught i would know
To whom i would go
When my fingers would fit between theirs

So i held many hands
But none fit so then
I let go and began to despair

So when i held yours first
In my sad mind i cursed
Cause the answer proved same as before

But when i pulled away
You held on and you said
You believed that we could be much more

Then I felt your hands change
Fingers start to arrange
Soon enough mine too had done the same

And before my own eyes
I saw my precious prize
For enduring and winning this game

Your fingers and mine
Fit together just fine
And to this day with you i remain

Your hands
are The Same size as mine
yet they
can Hold so much more
than My feeble instruments;
my arms however
can lift your Heavy Body
higher than the twisting tendrils of Strong vine
stretching themselves up and out into the sky
on a ten foot trellis
your hands Tight they grab my arms then
we lift
Together They Melt into a wild new assist

Fingers dance around
strings as if trained at Bolshoi
dance academy

Raw meat on your silver plate.
Heavy fingers
caressing my bare flesh.
You cannot invite yourself
if you aren't welcome.
Then you used your
sticky, heavy and disgusting
thick fingers
to caress some more.
In my head  
broken people can only
create broken things.
So what if you created it  
you said while
everyone in the cinema
had melted hearts.
But this is no love story
more like horror.
For I would not bow
and you made me.

the vicious fingers of the handmade glass doorknob
the hieroglyphic eyes of the mirror on the wall
the curious shriek of the crystal goblet

scratch my arm by surprise
slice my solitude
slash my blue simulacrum

I sever my self away