It's My Hands

It's my hands
that are addicted.

When I have a soft-skinned lover,
they'll caress her,
warming.

But when she's elsewhere,
they'll stroke anything
smooth and neutral.

Railings and banisters,
desktop and mouse,
pint glass and bar.

image: po

Dylan Harris
2k+

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop
all
publish

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