Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Hold my hand. It slips, don't you see?
So hold my hand.

Your hand, your hand, your hand!
What about mine? Dusty it is.
Dust never leaves.

Dust holds, then it doesn't slip.
But dirty they will be, our hands.

Did you say our? Your, you are worried about yours.

Dusty hands, slippery hands, hands all the same.
Thrust them into mine, I shall thrust mine into yours,
Together we thrust, together we feel.
But dust never leaves, nor does sweat, dirtier it gets.

1 comment:

jocklohm junction said...

hmm...despite the vast vagaries of life, heres a poet who can describe that slice of unembarrased truth, culminating forces and unashamed feelings. then thoughts slip into one another and merge like never before...like hands!