Or Something More? by Angela Thomas I read her words, they were about you. They told about your hands, hands that held her, comforted her, made her, me, love you. Jealousy. These were my hands, they lived on my bosom, tangled up in my fingers, hair, my mind. How could you make her feel the same way? Jealousy. I wonder if your hands are just special, charged with a copper-like field, or if there is something more there- maybe I'm not so special to their touch, maybe my skin is the same as any other womans, as hers. Ah, Jealousy. 02/03/2004 Posted on 02/04/2004 Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)