Home > Poetry > perfect hands in the dark

perfect hands in the dark

you flew out of my grief, bird
caught on the wind, telling tales
of shattered days
made whole with a song,
nothing more than the right note
at the right time,
a composition of compassion
played by perfect hands
in the dark –

it was what took the monsters
from my dreams,
told the ghosts to go
one by one, shattering the hold
that ruined me for myself,
a crack down the middle
of more than just glass.

I dream about living in the world
of your smile, that strange city
haven of sin and song,
your souldance
a miracle of lightning and bone,
stories told
only to be returned twofold
with deft fingers
and willing skin.

I wanted to create like that.
I wanted to resurrect so easily.
I wanted wild moments
of yes this, of sparks
that turn heads
from myth to man –
perfection found in a lonely, strange place,
where the unimagined gesture
is the price we eat, glad
for the pleasure that comes straight
for our pain.

are a love I will not give up,
because even when our worlds end,
even when our hearts stop,
something emerges
from the dust and blood,
something peculiar
and dangerous –
something that we can call ours.

And I will stand in Hell
straight within the flames
for even a glimpse of that.

Categories: Poetry
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