Fingers Poem by Stephanie Inaboya

{Rune I - The Opening Rune}:

Long branches carved
From richly fine wood - bur(ur) n;
Their gorgeousness -
It holds
My seeing down.

{II}:

Air puffed and ragged
From my breaths
From trying to swallow you.

{III}:

You delicate!
You firmly bold!
And openly circled
Around your longitude -
Your invisible, and twirly
Girdle.

{IV}:

Fingers - warm or cold,
Your perfection in art tempts me so,
To make my negative emotions
To being ridden away
To lassitude;

{V}:

Wherein, in my mind's handle -
To touch me on the cheeks,
To burrow still
In a hot
And languid connection -

{VI}:

You
Make me feel, the cool and southern
Well of youth,
In waters enlivening my cells.

{VII}:

No-oh... Don't go-O;
Come caress my skin and arms
To trace my weariness off,
With an angel's care, and Bible.

{VIII}:

Your ethereal fingers, oh...
Your fingers Madam,
Are like the ancient wool
Of princesses
In the warmly coloured day;

{Rune IX - The Ending Rune}:

And
Per furious in temperature
Like the lioness -
Ol, attractively gentle!