Hands
I can detect your presence.
In fact, I can see your residence.
As you reside.
By my bedside.
But my hand hurts so bad.
That I can not be glad.
When you reach over.
Even as your hand is like a four leaf clover.
It feels like gnawing.
Like your love is clawing.
So you might as well stand back.
When vines start to attack.
And wrap around my wrist.
And tangle my mind into a twist.
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