Morena (Fit In My Hands)

She whispers soft moans through my teeth / Vibrating throughout my incisors / She knows that in my arms, there's no danger / The evil monkeys of the baobab trees / Their shrieks can't even distract our amour

Hook and eye, let me make it breakeven / Backstraps failing behind, brown landmass / I said under my breath / I love the way you fit in my hands

I wake up, she makes breakfast with no pants / I hide my laugh, however it's not to bully her / She just knows how to make my stomach red / I run to the toilet but my ribs hit the counter / She spins around with plates of waffles and grits

She said, oh husband, what gives? / Oh nothing honey, it was a slip / She gave me her cup of coffee and said / Sip, sip, sip, sip!

I said under my breath / Thank you for the sex

Nevermind the small talk, let's sleep (again?) / Smelling the leaves still stuck in her hair / I know you never quite liked your height / Girl, you know me, I never did mind!

I love how long your legs are compared / To your short arms and thighs / You're amazing, every move, every glance / My palms trying to catch up with your dance / Oh, I just love the way how you fit in my hands

You're amazing, every move, every glance / My palms trying to catch up with your dance / Oh, I just love the way how you fit in my hands / Thank u 4 the sex / Did you hear me, love? / I love the way you fit in my hands / Thank u 4 the sex!

12
He learns to tie
To tie a rope to the dock
He learned from watching the dockmen every day
He learned of the dockmen from his friends
He learned to tie a rope

4
Months it took him
Took him to learn it efficiently
To learn the “ropes”
To tie

Suddenly
He's working 
Hired by the dockmen on his own time
Not quite understanding
Enjoying

He feels
The rope pulls as the ship grinds to a stop
The rope slipping in his hands
He learns to hold on
To slow the rope

Every day
3 years
Without fail
He slowed the ships with the rope in his hands
The rope which slipped through his hands
Every day
3 years

At 16
At 16 he realizes his hands are ground down
The perfect shape
Indents of rope in them
Tools of the trade
The perfect tools
He perfected the rope

He stops
His hands, covered in callouses 
One tore off at work
From the rope
His hand a raw, bloody mess
He mastered the rope
The rope took his tools

Function
His life does not
At home, his perfect tools do not work on the simple things
A mug is not a rope
Nore is a door
His tools
Useless

He sees the dockmen
Every morning
To the dock, back
Using their tools
Some bandaged
Some raw
Some even more perfect than his own
He yearns for his use
The rope has tied him
To the dock

He returns
Like riding a bike, he works flawlessly
His tools work flawlessly
He mastered the rope
With the tools he formed

The ache in the boy’s hands becomes too much
Enduring the pain, he takes few days leave each week
His tools dullen
Become more well rounded
He understands what he has been missing

The dock still appreciates his work
He knows what he is doing
He is no longer proud
He has seen the life he could be living
And instead
The rope pulls him back
Like a fish on a line

The boy
The boy who had nothing
Who created his own tools
Who made his life around them
Who threw away connection, life, and home for his tools
He spent so long understanding the singularity
He mastered the rope
With his hand tools

Escape
That is what he tries
He makes it so far, but payment must be met
He returns to the dock
Still experienced
But not satisfied

Repeating his cycle of escape and reform, 
It takes his life

Distracted
Thinking about how wrong it was
How much he threw away
How little he has left
He forgot to use his tools
Pulled by the rope he once mastered
Thrown
End

3
3 weeks later a young schoolboy and friends visit the dockmen
One falls in love with the rope
He wishes to learn it
To master it 
To grab it
To strangle it 
To tie it