21
TAINTED HANDS
NUR LAILI
She gingerly picks up the instrument
knowing it’s
not the first time
Yet
every movement, every bit of it squeezed out
feels like it could go so terribly wrong
She deliberately stalls the looming moment
before she starts on her masterpiece
her livelihood, her means to make ends meet
talking, laughing, smiling
with her customer, feigning.
Confidence,
all fake.
All nervous from the inner volcano about to erupt
But
His captivating smile,
those dreamy eyes
flashes in front of me.
His breath caressing my face.
Should we take it further?
Then it spews
all the vile stickiness.
Splattered on those precious assets.
Pandora’s box smeared on flawless appendages
When mind wrestles with limbs,
there can be no satisfactory service.