Scooping ice on a flowery day of sealand, salty smiles hand me glimmers of hanging branches full of dead leaves.
Heart-shaped fingers put rings on my insecurities until they escape their hoops, staring at my solemn being for getting bitter after touching the lemon tide.
Golden strips of hair caress my skin as tall arms hang around my sides locking my attention to the eyes of their owner as chills run through me
with their sparkling eyesight pouring to me while those sun bathed arms heat the foreign skin they touch.
Thumbs of all sizes uplift my mood when they face the sky and break my oceans when they don't face my eyes.
Resting my temptation on the palms of a folded heart either hearing their heartbeat or hear the noise of their heated palm on your skin, I've tasted both heating elecrifires and I've memorized both deafening feelings.
Felt them around me hugging my lonesome silhouette and abandom my powers at the same time. I felt their throbbing need to feel me and enjoyed their elusive shapes on my body, learned to rest my worries on them and loved them resting on my flesh, sharing their heat.
Saw them expresing a world of imagination and Saw them be limb when pain and sorrow striked so I had to use my own to reassure their beauty.
I was left to watch a world full of hands, filled with the emotions they carry, the fragility and strength they emit, a told story without a mouth to speak a gate to the body and it's sliest tool of seduction.
A firm holder or a loose grabber, they stay intricate, sacred in their own glory but lonesome by their own sides, shaping with someone's inner skin they either touch art or make art, having the power to hold they also reflect the wisdom to let go and give warmth to babies as they once wanted
now they shelter the adult-shaped kids of the world with their soft touch.