Mr. Hand Poem by Stefan Stokes
Mr. Hand
I watch you move on paper.
Your ink drips dark and stained my skin, your living picture i walk in.
Fingers trace your figure, it's a scale my hand knows well.
Sliding over steel strings, where your body swells.
This hand knows much my mind can't touch, it hides with slight and wipes from sight.
Please tell me Mr. Hand?
Thursday, October 23, 2008
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4/22/2024 4:11:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
