Little hands, I wish I could say
That I knew what it meant to be loved—
Not contrived or fickle, but unwavering love.
I lay now, lukewarm and drab,
Tiptoeing the veil of ennui.
My heart is a husk, embryonic and stale.
Little hands, I wish I could stay
And rewire the workings of my tale,
Which I willingly tarnished in nascent years.
I know now, ghoulish and sick,
Armored gestures gave way to my state.
My eyes are muddy, swampy and low.
Little hands, I wish I could fall
Through a fissure of unabridged passion
Boiling the blood through zips and turns.
Is it silly now, to purvey hope
When time has already decided?
My legs have failed, crumbled to dust.
Little hands, I wish you to know
What my world had so cunningly silenced.
Unbridled desires are not to be smothered-
By a fear that they blind us and tear us to shreds-
For those shreds are charged like embers.
Yours will come together, ignited.
