Friday 21 May 2021

No Work for Tinkers' Hands

 

No Work for Tinkers' Hands

 

 

Oh, if I could cast off these 30 years,

believe me now, I would be hers.

Burn calendar’s unfriendly pages,

kissing mouths will roll back ages,

twisting tongues, fever our hands,

scream out ifs, buts, pots and pans.

Ripping off clothes in revelation,

hungry eyes’ scanty contemplation,

rise in swords, push jungles open,

take inside this love full swollen.

A fall of black fringe over dark eyes,

pants passion loud in deep disguise.

Oh, the perfume is heaven scent,

red gloss might shimmer in consent,

smile tossed scorn in my direction

does dazzle, she is indeed perfection,

gasp for breath, she strokes her hair,

choke on words that want for air,

her gaze questions if I'd even dare?

One fall will we sit, back to back,

for she will give me what I lack.

In a heartbeat I'd throw all of it over

for just one chance to be her lover.

Melt with lust knowing disdainful eyes,

take my hand and fall sweet in demise.


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