More old poems. Coz I'm frickin' tired and un-creative lately :P 2005 din ata ito.

Old Lovers

My hands are old women,
without the aged's sensibility.
You touch them to your lips
and they don't know any better.
They imagine they are limber
and bend over backwards
only to break under your too-careful kiss.
My hands are eager like dowagers
to capture youth in its sensual forms.
They'd like to dance, to dip,
to cavort, to exclaim,
to be like sprites in the rolling valley
between your breasts.
They'd like to swim in your
underground spring.
But they break again,
under your knowing kiss.
My hands are not senile in the ways
of celebrating your landscape
but they are blind, deaf,
insensitive now, aren't they?
Their wild fingers weighed down
by the breakdown
of your lingering kiss.