deepundergroundpoetry.com

Man-I-cure

On the ends the digits five on each
For me they hold such preciousness
The conductors of our life
To lift the cup the erotic and the pure
That finger finger touch
Don't push that cuticle away
For each moon is saying stay
Be with the smile of my caress
A butterfly with winds so soft
The down of skin when clothes have dropped
Red quivers lips the silent gasp
Of extacy within your grasp
And hope that point will last and last and last
Drew out what you would freely give
A beckon to that inner place
The palmistry of interplay
Soft tenderness to trim and to restore
The sheen of love applied and not procured
For that a skilled Man-I- cure
For the blind a chance to read
All down the trail of bumpy braille
Touched tender senses are deployed
And give the deaf all signs to succeed
For hands can satisfy All needs
The bitten nails admit defeat
slipalong
Written by slipalong
Published
Author's Note
get your hands on my poem !
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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