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A collaboration over too much coffee.
coffee and pen

01 December, 2004

One Skin

I stroke his hand
loose, transparent folds of skin
barely covering fragile veins
stretching over fingers
still long and beautiful
ending at aristocratic blue-tinged nails

I place my vibrant hand
next to his,
almost ashamed by the
alive tightness of the skin,
the strength in its colour and control.

We are the same, you and I, I tell him.
Your hand was once like mine
and mine will be like yours tomorrow.
And we both know
that Time is just an illusion.



Blogger zigzackly said...

Wonderful, Anita. The poem and the sentiment both.

01 December, 2004 18:45  

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