Idle Hands Poem by Thomas King

Mine hands
Sinful tools possessed

Dance along the periphery
Of thy intimate domain

Touching and probing
With subtle
Perverse persuasions

Caressing thy sweet softness
With course and passionate desires

Has thou the courage
Within thy soul
For acceptance of such

Dost thou grant admittance
Into thy Forbidden garden

Or shall these hands
Be bound and left idle

Their sensuous tools left to rust

From the tears
Of mine intimate frustrations