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Hands
by Trisha De GraciaYou peruse with hard and gentle hands.
The sweet sound of fingertip play
(skin-tracing swishes
and eyes to follow each soft little trail)
is entrancing me with shivers that always feel new.
You watch as my body responds.
In the light
and after each 3x5 image of unforetold happiness(?)
flashes across my eyes
in smiles
red satin and missing corsages
It feels like you soaked through my hesitant laugh
and knew every thread of it.
Gently eases me down-
these hands
to wrap my shakey heart
and pull it through my useless vocal cords-
I fish for words
while you speak in the absense of syllables.
01/28/2004 Posted on 01/28/2004
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by J. P. Davies on 02/01/04 at 09:21 AM Now that I understand this better, I feel I can comment. I really like how through the unsurity of the second stanza the poem returns to the control that the hands have over you. I like any poem that can return to it's original topic and make the whole thing feel complete and whole. |
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