The Struggle (15/45)

Another City Council meeting; another ball of bile and regret.
I woke up tired from the struggle of the evening before and the evening before.

Then, I met him.

I took my two hands for granted,
their grasp, their hold, their future,
until he told me to touch the tip of his left nub.

I wrapped my fingers around where his wrist ended.
And, he smiled and sighed.

I kissed where his left hand used to start.

My lips curled around injustice's bitter taste.
The sour scent of someone done wrong filled my head.

I wanted to make my two fists for him,
but he opened my clenched claws,
one at a time,
and kissed my open, soft palms,
showing me the way out of anger.

And, as he entered me, 
I forgot my painful path and just stood with 
my head against the wall reveling in the moment.