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Getting Through : Creative Writing
wandering hands | from Albatross - Tuesday, August 06, 2002
accessed 1346 times Something that has nothing to do with the family. These hands long to roam
And
Like a vagabond,
Travel these gentle hills,
These valleys,
This temple,
Your body.
What delights,
Sub-Rosa
Obscured
What fields to run through
What rivers to ford
What heights to scale
And sights,
Few eyes
Few men
Have seen before.
And what bouquets
Await my senses
What seductions
Await my pallet
My feet long to roam,
These bazaars of yours
Haggling with vendors
Of spice
Of trinkets.
Oh... this is desire,
To brush my hands
Across these idols of yours,
to run my hands
across these sacred curves,
that drag me to my knees.
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