I remember her hand was warm.
Not the kind that's sweaty and gross,
the kind you avoid touching
the kind that feels like there's a slime on it,
moist from the heat, and dripping,
but not dry either
the heater from the car that sucks
the vapor out of the air.
Just warm.
The kind of warmth that pellets you in the shower,
with the smells of flowers and fruits from tropical areas.
What you wrap yourself up in when the world
is cold and biting against your skin
purple and flaking, with splotching redness.
What is touch?
In its prime,
it's the flowers that blossom when we stroke the dead grass.
It's the way colors leak, pour, over a canvas we scrape on.
It’s the way we follow rain
running down the side of the car window, as children,
we breathe against the glass with the storm,
and with our hands we draw senseless images.
It's the way water pools vibrate outwards with circles that grow.
It's the love exchanged between people,
the pressure placed on another's knuckles,
and the way fingers trace veins.
Maybe physical touch is a reminder
that we can't be saved from what goes on in our head
when hands brush, grab, reach, and hold.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,005 Literary Works • 672,796 Reviews
Just kidding. That's not all.
I really loved this poem. It has the nostalgic, slightly overwhelmed feeling that I definitely look for in poetry. I liked the ending. It kind of reminded me a Shakespearean sonnet, in the sense that the writing was pretty and just a touch dramatic, and the end kind of makes you think.
I do have just a couple suggestions. As I always say, they are not necessary, they're just things that I think would make the poem more clear or roll off the tongue easier.
"moist from the heat, and dripping,
but not dry either"
You might want to try a more defined transition. It's not exactly clear that you're moving on to a new idea here.
"but not dry either
the heater from the car that sucks"
You may want to insert "like" after "either". It'll improve the flow of the piece.
Other than that, it's a very pleasant poem.
I love it, that's all.
A lil' review from moi
)
I honestly love the meaning behind this. It's excellently written (except for some minor grammatical errors). It's got the perfect amount of description so that I feel like I'm holding her hand. I actually know someone with similar hands, so it's interesting that you can describe them in a way for me to feel said person's hands.
About the meaning:
I love that you say that physical touch can't save someone from what goes on in their head. Many people use /forms/ of touch to escape from the harsh reality of their lives and realize (too late) that it doesn't help them. While physical touch may be beneficial in some cases, it often is not.
The only actual "problem" I have with your poem is that the ending is very bland. I feel like a poem with this amount of emotion should have an equally emotional ending. If I'm correct, I assume that this is about someone you lost (by death or by romantic relations or something of the sort). It would be more *TEARJERKING* if you were to end the story kind of along the lines of:
"Maybe her hand is a reminder
that physical touch will never save me from myself" (dont do it exactly like that, you could DEFINITELY make it sound better
anyways, that's it from me. peace out brotha
Hi. Here for a quick review.
This piece is Interesting but next please try and make use of your punctuations properly.
That being said. Reading this I was carried away, remembered my mom (though this seems like its talking about the chemistry between two lovers) the way I always feel comfortable in her bossom. The way her unending love and support keeps me going. The way she cares, I mean. This poem just made remember my mom once more...
Nice one. Keep it up