Hands. Fingers, nerve endings, skin, life-giving veins...
Is there a more direct and expressive part of the human body than the eyes?
The soul flows into the eyes, we deposit emotion into our fists. We hold it, to become water, to quench our thirst. The fingers become a knitted nest, they knit and knit, they hold and hold. They claim and are claimed.
Fingers dance, love, pulsate like our heart. Lifeless heart, lifeless hands. They touch differently what they desire, differently the drudgery. They comfort without speaking, they caress the fluffy cheek of the creature they give birth to, the milk-bearing breast, the breast that breathes. In flamenco, they become swan necks, in ballet they spread out, in the amané they court.
They transform into lakes and seas that illuminate darkness and heal. They do not age, they only mature. We live with and in from our hands.
And those who desire them are the ones who seek them the most...
photo Foundry, https://pixabay.com
