Friday, 14 August 2015

On Hold

In your grasp,
Fingers clasp
A ring round wrist,
Thumb prints nestle,
Digits wrestle into
Flesh and skin,
Limb and bones,
Held and honed
Richly owned.

When this grip,
Began to slip:
With sweat-filled palms,
Veins at risk,
Your holy hold
Refused to twist,
Stuck with this son,
Till he caught on...


  1. He never, ever lets go of us
    no matter how hard we may try to fight it
    or fall.

  2. Powerful and moving ... yet rendered with such tenderness.


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With the sun..

Wearing wrap-around seduction. A blindfold angel in black. Mirrors to glimpse a fine troubled prince? Dressed-up pathway to the soul ...