compared to the red succulent lips, a divine temptation , they are the not the pefect sight . Hard , raw , chipped and chaffed, toiled to the last bit. they remove the sensation of hard work. they are engraved with pain of tomorrow , today and yesterday. They play a relentless song of understanding and can give the deepest of expressions. they are strong and protect the weak and can break the proud , they weather any storm nomatter how ruthless.
I look at them and wonder what it feels like to converse with them in that secret anciet way , i wonder if they can bring me to the point of delerium while strumming me and creating a song that will remain a great secret. A breathless sculpture , you know his hands fill the very bottom of imaginations .
His hands drown me in serendipity , his hands are his very essence of his existance. tried and tested but don't break.His hands are a perfect desire.
End by ; t. a. maru