James A Collins

BEAUTIFUL HANDS

She said my hands were beautiful so I laid my right hand against her cheek: Cupped her chin in my palm described her jaw line with my fingers ending at the shallow of her temple She said my voice was a lullaby so I laid my face against her left cheek and my breath floated across golden strands massaged the curve of her ear as my chest rumbled close to hers A broken black umbrella shades the treasure chest of these memories She said my lips were velveteen so I pressed my lips against her hand then journeyed along her right arm until I arrived at last in the sweet shallow where neck meets shoulder She said my lips were sweet so I pressed my lips against hers that she might taste them again and again and again and again A broken black umbrella shades this treasure chest of memories She said my hands were beautiful so I circled my hand under her breast: described the circumference where it met her chest and took the measure of her areola then pressed it to my lips She said my heart was healable so I placed it in her hands: She transected the loneliness, traversed the fields of loss then sutured the vessel with kisses & caresses Wind has stolen the black umbrella Now it flies like a wounded crow into the western sky

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