tagNon-Erotic PoetryHands

Hands

bysusansnow©

I like not knowing. Hope breeds there. There is no scoreboard, just memory. I fondly think of you. I prefer long-distance friendships. Bait, hooks, and lure. Fumbled botched like untamed feathers. Hair to the middle of your back eyes closed those hands like I remember. My father was a butcher with hands like hams. June brings promise. How quickly each day slides into a year. It was right there all along. Found it though it made no difference.

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