Fingers That Linger – Prose Poetry

I wish my fingers were slimmer and thinner than they are. For they are far from elegant, since they are short. A friend had thin fingers that were so slim and pretty. Mine are rather ordinary with nails that break, even if they are painted in shades of pink. Though I like to wear silver rings in them, which is pretty in it’s own way. But my fingers can linger on a man’s skin; gliding over rough, smooth, and stubble. A whisper of sin is in my fingers. If you get me started I am not prim and proper. I can play one’s skin like a violin, singing and skimming over the surface like a nymph. And with a pencil I can will  my missives to be in tune with my mind. Without my fingers, imagination wouldn’t be on the paper. Things I think would be left in my mind, and wouldn’t it be much better if they were able to be read? Even if I am the only one reading them. I can’t dismiss my fingers, even if I wish they were more than they are. One day my fingers will write something incredible, and in that moment, I won’t wish they are thinner and slimmer and different than they are.


I have never quite understood prose, and recently I attempted to figure out what prose is exactly. I’m still not sure. I’m not even sure this qualifies as prose. (If you know, please comment) I love assonance because of the subtlety of the sounds.  Because ‘finger’ was ‘lingering’ in my head, the short ‘i’ sound is hopefully noticeable.  Yes, I am telling you because even I might not notice it.  See, there are a few more ‘i’ sounds.

I think I would like to attempt more prose, and in the past, I think what I wrote as prose is in my flash fiction moments. How do you know?  Well, either way, I liked this assignment for today.