Her Hands Smell Like Sunsets--By Arthur Turfa--United States

Her Hands Smell Like Sunsets

The silence cannot, will not

stifle the emerging word.

Within you speak voices.

Music resounds throughout you.

When despair closes in,

a melody, a metaphor arises.

Far more remains in you than

the incessant, obscene wound.

Flowers blossom where none

ever burst forth in color before.

Every part of your being glows,

Your hands still smell like sunsets.

Let my words shine like the sun

upon the waters you touch.

Arthur Turfa is a transplanted Pennsylvanian who enjoys living in the Midlands of South Carolina. These places and others are reflected in his book, Places and Times, eLectio Publishing, 2015. His bivocationl career path has given him a wealth of experience which makes for a rich blend of poetry. Currently a moderator in three Google+ poetry communities, he is working on a second book.