Helpless Hands

Within me, without me, rushing tide rising
I cling to your hands, your embrace, eyes
like deep green seas, all I need, love lines
on your palm, I’m a palm reader, you know
I can see through the brush fire of scars
all the fate and heart and head threads that
scatter across your skin, you are calloused
warrior’s hands, helpless hands, ever-raised
in prayer, you carry flowers of angel song
to your Father, return with holy oil to
sprinkle upon awaiting tongues, brows like
gold haloes, your love is rain that pours out
like an amphora of rich wine, I sleep in tangles
of sheets, my soul wanders to heaven, to where
you are always waiting, under the stars, in a
grotto of remembrance and will-bes, slate stone,
waterfall over windows, your hands, your fate
etched in soft memories and wound white twists
brackish the night sky, Mariana trench mind,
I go swimming in your arms, in your marrow,
the tsunami of your heart is a call eternity
of beating down soldier boy drum, rum pum pum,
I’m caught up in the riptide, your fingers
sift through sand to find me, I waded too deep,
wanting to become one with your ocean, wanting
nothing more than to drown in your blood,
to inhale ichor and firebright solace, watery
glimmering sea pearls your pinpoint prayers
to harvest those nacreous jewels from Leviathan
depths, you reel me in, I awake in an empty bed,
I can still feel you around me, within me, calling
a name I have not heard in centuries, yet still
even in this girlish pink room, with lipstick
and summer dresses and high heels, I still feel
your ocean, your undertow, ripping away my innocent
trappings, I the silver fish that chases rippling
sunlight, it started in your palms, ends in your hands
your hands, your hands, your gold fever hands.

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