Skip to main content

B is for Holding Hands

Do people still hold hands?
Does anyone even crave to be touched any more?
To casually brush up on fingers
Like the wind herself wanted yours and theirs to meet
To find some excuse to touch
In a way that doesn't find you paying a fine for the things that we do in the bedroom...
Or on carnival day.

Do people still hold hands?
Hands clasped tightly in prayer to a god reflected in each other's eyes.
Pray to me, he says
Pray to me, she says
Pray that fingers ache when eight hour shifts separate us.
Pray that they never find a keyboard enough.
Enough? ... Enough.

The whispers of a dreamer is all that remains
A pen twirling between fingers that should be twirling strands...
Twirling hands.
Twirling. Wondering. Pondering if... if... 

If maybe somewhere, in this age of independents, people even bother to hold hands.

TjH
08:05:15

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

B is for Loving Boys

90's boy love - Joey n Chandler.... a moment of randomness between Catharsis videos There are boys I love . And they love me. And we’re open about it. Just last Saturday I got a text message from one of those boys who said “I love you too man” in response to something I said. My boys are artists, artistes, atheists, and agirl (who is in fact one of the boys so hence the addition to the category) fathers, brothers and high school musicals (Jed and Umar will get that one – lol). We share ideas, music, random nothingness and Brent Worthington . We approve, reprove and listen to each other. I think the girl that I end up with must in fact be like the boys I love. Good looks aside… please… have some substance. One of my boys is appalled that I watched Gossip Girl (if you’re going to bash it… know what it is first) and has for this [and other minor reasons] jokingly labeled me a homosexual. But he who looks like Miley Cyrus with rainbow bandanas should not talk [chuckles]. I love my

JUSTICE LEAGUE SPOILER-FREE ISH REVIEW!

B is for The Hand of Gordon (Act 8)

8. And Gordon did look upon the face of the actor, standing at his door. Wet, cold and angry. Gordon invited him in but he refused. He wagged his finger, trying to gather both thought and breath. Gordon turned away for a moment and returned with a towel and a glass. Whisky and water. Mixed. The actor took a sip and was sated some. Presently, he began to yell: “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, GORDON?! WHA… WH… WHAT YOU DO THAT FOR?!” The actor wept. Gordon, not missing a beat took his sketchbook and showed it to the actor. His wet, nubby fingers thumbed through the book growing ever more confused as he did. Gordon’s notes were likened to a physician’s and, quite possibly, only a physician could have possibly been able to decipher it. Possibly. “I don’t understand your handwriting.” “I do. I know what I’m doing.” The finality of that answer was… comforting but the actor required more. “You still have more of that whisky mix-thing?” Gordon turned from his guest, smiling to himself