Pottery

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Rough hands

Your veins so close to the surface, that is your skin

Covered

Wet clay, splattered all over your black apron and white T-shirt, carefully placed on your hands face

Earthly, Heavenly

I watch your hands, as you select your clay

High fire, low fire

Your hands form the mold

Your mind feeds my curiosity

You see, it wasn’t your face I fell for, nor your words

It was your hands and your ability to take nothing and create something, that could make me feel

Feel every emotion, that ever existed

All at once

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