In your palm, nestled,
sweating
clasping finger tips
thin white hair
barely covering
thickly veined wrists
tense
grasp,
you gasp for air,
the skin between your fingers rips
your eyes close,
wind lightly brushes
across the white hairs,
gray skin
you let go
hold on, no more
sweat cooling in the breeze
the truth of what you were holding
brings us to our knees
Comments
fatboy74 | July 11, 2011 - 21:40
Another one of yours I have enjoyed.:-)
samhennig | July 12, 2011 - 15:04
cheers, anymore handy crit would be greatly appreciated on this one :)