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Q
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Hands
It's easier to stare at someone else's hands than into their eyes.
I do that a lot with hands, their finger tips, fingers, palms, backs and wrists. I always wonder "Where do they lead, these instruments of invitation and manipulation?"
Inevitably, if the hands, with the slendor of their parts, plain, decorated or dirty, and how those all dance with the hands as a whole, look nice to me, if they look genuine, if I can fancy certain things about them: that an invitation through them would be tantamount to a touch and that manipulation by them would rarely twist me into painful knots, except perhaps of desire, but could tune my engine, enthrall me with an elegant distillation, write an inspiring letter in long-hand, or inspire me to write in that same way a thank-you note in a greeting card, a story, perchance like this, or a poem, if the hands are that way, then I know I want to stare into the eyes and so I do. Inevitably.
Copr. 2000
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000122
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