Metacarpals Phalanges and Sesamoids - Beauty Immortal

Metacarpals Phalanges and Sesamoids - Beauty Immortal The hands, it's all about the hands for me Streamline with creamy silk skin so fine The elegance, the aesthetics, the peripheral view The long slender phalanges, so ethereal The disquiet beauty, the flowing artistically magnificent lines So alluring it feels as though the hands can't be real. Knowing deep inside my blackest of hearts That those delicious beauties So feminine and fragile, graceful, pristine, and agile Could very well rip you apart Deviant, sinister, lethal weapons, they could easily end your start They masquerade as magic - mythical and superior Far-advanced, emotively austere perfection Of which all else is seen as inferior. Hands of refinement that have been pampered, oiled, and manicured These hands have created masterpieces, they have been held They have been loved And have always had a comfortable home They are a blood moon in a deathly dark sky The want I feel for them is all-consuming, a demonic obsession looming Intombing comes to mind Which is actually macabrely amusing For a crypt of the finest design is where I house all mine. Affirmation - yes indeed you understood correctly That is what I did say Trust and believe - I would not have them any other way In my sanctuary of cool, and dimly lit, embraced by all of evil And of the most impervious kind My meticulously chosen, surgically removed pairs of hands Are anything but bland Individually glass-encased, labeled, and displayed In the most iconic of ways. This Otherworldly renowned domicile of hands I am proud to say - is the only one in all of the lands A kind of designer boutique of all hands unique And definitely not to be confused with Trick-or-Treat or feet Of the countless sets of hands in my collection My most treasured pair that are there Are those of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost How's that for dereliction of the Host?