Hands Like

Happy Valentine's, y'all.

For lack of anything current to say on the topics of love and romance, here's an old poem I wrote for a gal who dumped me a decade ago, but was just here a few days past - for a short but enjoyable visit in very snowy, very cold Cowtown:

she has hands like spiders
only not so fast and nasty
instead they move like water ebbs
connecting dots on me

she has hands oh spindly thin
long fingernails sometimes
double-joint piano hands
poised over keys of me

her hands sheathed in sweat back then
first holding mine so anxious
but now quite dry and jaded still
with no warmth left for me

these hands are mine own alone
raw cracked and brittle skin
clutch at spider thin piano hands
a fading memory

P.S. The four examples of chip music in the sidebar under Songs, I wrote for her as well - some 14 years back from now:

Plunge
Upended
Kerslamm!
Plunge (Extended Mix)