she had suddenly found herself growing weary-
weary of the men with grabbing hands.
grabbing at her uncovered flesh and often grabbing at her soul.
their kisses were like warm water on a humid summer day.
they always seemed to confuse their rush to undress her with a distant relative of “passion”
she yearned for soft hands that would caress instead of grope.
for those arms that would carry her above the burning coals.
so she let her mind dance around this new reality-
this reality of soft hands and strong arms.
because grabbing hands made her weary and she felt
it was time to live again.