(After Glen Sorestad’s When Hands sleep, what do they dream?)
His hands dream the calisthenics of metals of an automobile,
while hers dream of cooking her thoughts, her passion;
his hands dream juggling numbers, a jumbled telephone,
while her hands dream of imprisoned letters finally freed;
his hands dream a marriage of spoon and fork
as he moves brown rice to his innocent mouth,
while hers dream the bipolar bond of nude fingers
in the canvas plate painting her hunger, her hunger;
his hands dream how the soldier fingers camp the softness
of her breast, her nipple, a caged nightingale,
her hands dream the aggressive texture of his buttocks
as he enters, her finger’s surrender to his hips.
Sometimes his hands and her hands stop dreaming
but lie restless like defeated warriors lost
in the subconscious of hand against hand in combat.
Sometimes hands sleep in the awakening of desire.
– April Mae M. Berza