In wells of churning sharpness
Quiet hands sweep and slip and sway
Past each other in
A slow and careful caress;
A romance of fingers
(The colours of rust and liquid jade)
Seeping into one another
Intertwining... Reaching for me.
Oh, how they draw me in and
Call to me ever so softly.
In their palms they hold
The thickest of pine forests
Damp and dripping and dark
Laced with spider webs of sinewy gold.
Yes, in your eyes I see
A wonderful somewhere
I have never traveled,
And all the places I could go.
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