“soft hands”

Written for:  The Twiglets #262 - soft hands

With hands of velvet
it was evident
she did not work
as a manual laborer.

Her hands were soft and smooth,
her heart was jagged and dark.

stops in sunlit forest
extends her soft hands forward
feels rough bark of tree

              He always fell for girls with soft hands.
             Obsessed, he'd stroke them–a sensitive man.
                    But girls grew tired,
                     awaiting his fire.
             He had no further plans, how bland.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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6 Responses to “soft hands”

  1. Sadje says:

    How bland indeed! 😂


  2. Misky says:

    Love that limerick!


  3. Jules says:

    Each little bit of verse captured a human foil. And the Limerick… reminds me of those who have a fetish for something and seem to limit their horizons. Well done.


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