New Occidental Poetry

But Your Hands

My dearest:

Your eyes seem tired

The corners of your mouth seem indecisive;

at a loss for which way to bend

You have a bearing of misgiving

And all these things pull at my heart

Your affect may be sad

The soul inside you constrained within an infinite room

In this expanse, inverted claustrophobia

But your hands

Your hands are so strong

Effortlessly teasing out that which will shape our future

Passing through filth and coming out clean

Twisting the ties that bind you to me, and us, and we

I know your heart is heavy, my love and only

But if your heart is failing you, then do as I do and find faith in nothing else

But your hands

-Frederick Algernon