Posted in Poetry

Hands: A Poem


Age spots, freckles, and veins disappear

In the tropical wonderland.

Flipping them from side to side

Makes stallions blink to admire

Ten long pointy toothpicks.

Bracelet marks open the gate to

An island of longevity.

I need to know if there is any way

To find a state of peace

In the waves slowly seeping onto the beach.

Don’t feel obligated, you say,

There’s always fishing in the Pacific.

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