Start with your hands

From December 2012:

Start with your hands. I want you to place them here. And here. And here.  So much to discover if you take it slow, and I want you to take it slow. I want to feel the restraint (yours, not mine). I want to see the pulse in your tendon, the quick in your veins. I will tell you when it’s time to push bit to teeth, to run. I will tell you when to let go. I will throw open the gate and invite your release. But first, take it slow.

I know you’ve been here a thousand times before. But this. This is brand new. This is a revelation. This is an indoctrination. You have forgotten how to be surprised, and I will teach your body to remember. I want your body to remember. The very first, the shock of skin. The way that eyes flash and lock. I want your body to remember this.

So put your hands on me. Each finger tip holds a thousand stories. Dip them in ink and write me your history. Leave a trail of words that seep into my bones. I want to read what you have written there. I want to know where you have been, what you know. Tell me what you have to say, and what you have swallowed. Put your words into my mouth. Let me sing them back to you. I will be gentle with your song.

Start with your hands. All I want is this. And you. All I want is you.

Rock Bublitz portrait by Joanne Piechota

All that from an elevator ride. Yikes. Some volcanoes are merely sleeping …

Eidyia’s note: Keeping up my tradition of revisiting pieces a year later. Love what this little flight of fancy signified back then (a slow and sure waking for this writer). It also remains a valid reason as to why certain people should never read my stories 😉

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