From a poet with Parkinson’s, for our partners, and for those PWPs who must be their own lovers

Blessings on the hand

Let there be copious blessings on the hand,

wise and slow, that finds its way across

the explosive expanse of tender flesh

bypassing delicately the minefields of reactive muscle

primed to cramp and knot,

dexterously skirting the rusty razor wire

of tortured nerves stretched to the limit,

stopping when and where the focus of desire

pulses mutely waiting.

The hand does next to nothing, resting,

nested in the exact place. Being all there.

But then a simple song of longing can be heard,

the oldest song, the prayer

that we don’t know we know,

a few softly aspirated vowels.

Then let there be copious blessings on the hand.


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4 Replies

  • Beautiful!

  • Great words! :-)

  • thank you

  • Beautiful words !

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