Friday, May 06, 2005


soft, delicate hands
strong, silent engagement ring
treated cuticles with
polished nails
(pink of course)
smooth, experienced,
aching hands
needing to be rubbed

Folding ribbons of lotion
into her hands,
the routine continues:
one finger
over another,
tilting her wrists,
rocking back and forth,
back and forth,
until lotion disappears.

The hum of a butterfly's wings
is the warm sand beneath my toes.

Her hair sways its leaves
in the night breeze.

"How do you work the night moisture
into your hands?"

She notices me watching,
waiting for her hands to be moist.
She looks up,
"My hands are dry," she says.


gulnaz said...

i like the sensuality of this poem

Cassandra said...

"Folding ribbons of lotion"

It's absolutely beautiful. How lovely...