| quick_with_her_hands | ||
| falling_alone |
i gave you a massage the other day, drunk on strong hot toddies after the snow had rolled through and you had shoveled it off the porch. you giggled at me, and i was embarrassed. my hands were on a mission, you said, they have a purpose in mind. i wasn't quite sure what to say because in some respect you were true. hands that do all the talking, Talking that I rarely do. hands that release the peace of mind i'm usually searching for, a way to release the fire, i've been told is ready to escape. hands that have much to say, and a limited means to do so, unless you let me finish. i didn't say much to him, but i did slow down, and i let my hands listen. |
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