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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.

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1 Comments:

Blogger zigzackly said...

Wonderful, Anita. The poem and the sentiment both.

01 December, 2004 18:45  

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