metacarpus

Letter 129.1

Could’ve woke up in the morning
inside the palm of a hand,
Many would find it appalling
at least hard to understand.

Fingertip kiss in the morning
all and all but away,
just as the torchlight is dawning
I fumble through homes like a stray.

Crawl and caress in the morning
a deep rooted sinewy touch,
feeling the pulse of the blood sing
the song that is never too much.

Exchange anima in the morning
a new metacarpus house,
I am a gift for adoring;
to lie like the doze of a mouse.

Could wake up in the morning
inside the palm of a hand,
Many would find it appalling
at least hard to understand.