Soulless-Love

There is a story in my hands, it rests on the tips of my fingers, waiting to rat-a-tap-tap on the keys, and whisper worlds to life. There is a song in my hands, it sings in my joints, and each time they bend, a note plays out. There is a poem in my hands, it sleeps in the whorls on my skin, inking rhymes and patterns, across the lines of my palms. There is a dream in my hands, that creeps up my veins, to paint words across my mind, in the midst of my slumber. There is a world in my hands, twisted around bones, beautiful and vibrant, waiting for my hands to give it life.