I'll hold your hand until you let go.
The tighter you hold on the longer I'll stay.
But to be honest if our hands lost grip
I'd still stay.
My hands are forever intertwined in yours.
Even if your small fingertips lose touch
I will stay.
I will be mindful of the color or your nails.
And the tremble of your hands from nervousness.
When you let go
just remember
I'll be waiting for you.

i hope
that when the time comes,
the pieces of
your heart
that were
taken away
from you:

some you gave away
willingly,

but mostly were stolen
and you realizing it was
gone too late,

come back to you in another form.

another face,
another smile,
another embrace,
another set of hands to
hold again,

i hope it does come back to you

— replace what’s been taken

as if it was never broken in the first place.

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

I can’t even begin to describe,
The absolute joy; the warmth; the elation;
That came over me that moment,
Even if for just a moment,
That you took me by the hand.
I can’t even remember the last time
I wanted something so small to last forever.

All I’ve wanted to be is closer to you,
In every way possible.
To know your biggest dreams
And your deepest fears.
And if somehow those things
Magically lined up with mine,
Only then could I show you
How big I can smile.

But that night,
Despite
All the distractions that were,
That was the one thing that I know
I did not merely imagine
On a drunken night.

But right now, I’m okay.
Here; far away. From you.
But I have that moment;
Even if it’s only mine.
Of that one moment when our hands
Intertwined.

I was told (once) that if I could only make up a perfect story, that, that woman, who stole almost everything from men, would fall for me; would, maybe destroy me and leave me for dead. Would, maybe, ship me off without my pen and belt, and force me to paint her with no training. She’d want something that resembles something by Claude Monet; Do you know how difficult that is? That’s the fun though; she’d cut me off so many times; she’d remind me how many others could paint better; she’d explain, in beautiful detail, just how useless my hands were. Well, I hope she’s satisfied with my work; I’m sorry I finished early; I’m really no man; Goodnight, goodnight, I hope you’re sleeping; so I can finally leave.

The lungs of who you are betray the bones of what you've become.
I could keep you in my hands for as long as I can hold my breath,
but that feels too long.

You're trapped around the grave of the person you wanted to find in me.
I can't be her for you.
Even for one night.
I can't be here for you.

You know it's true that your hands are tied between two more.
I'm not with you anymore.
I got the last laugh now you deal with what comes.

You miss talking,
and my ears don't miss being talked to.
You wish this was different,
and I do to.
You still don't want change,
but my bones are broken, and through them I feel my lungs.