Writing Poetry [WRITING FICTION - PART 2] - Sandpaper Hands

His hands are like sandpaper,

calloused by the hardships of Life's labors.432Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4EbHYqLcde

Time has carved her tiny paths into his palms,

Yet, those sandpaper hands remain forever strong.

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His lips are quirked and uneven,

like the vagabond grin of a heathen.

Yet, one smile from his could shatter the world

as if all of Life's splendidness is suddenly unfurled.

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His eyes are dark liquid pools.

They do not sparkle like Etherian jewels;

instead, they hold a raging storm inside,

just as an ocean commands the tide.

***

When he holds me with those sandpaper hands

I am reminded every day of our future plans.

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When he kisses me with those uneven lips,

even the world seems to be eclipsed.

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And when he looks at me with those dark eyes,

I am reminded why I became his bride.

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