Her Hands Poem by Joen Coronel

Somewhat new to my eyes
As time hops
As time flies
As time stops
For a while

December-kissed skin, cold and tan
Breeze brushes her cheeks
Along my way
Along the highway
Along the sidewalks
I’m walking into

The sound of a young soul
Dreams in her eyes
Through the clouds
Through the indigo grasses
Through the ceiling
Smiling back at her

Semi-ebony hair dancing in curls
Her captivating chuckle
From behind
From the illuminating space
From the marble grounds
Is perfectly crafted
Like her hands.