# #hands

3 poems

## [photobooth](https://chromato.graphics/photobooth)

shoes stick to the floor,  
we wander past the bar  
into a dim red-lit lounge.  
pinball, locked door, you.  
you’re a seeing machine.  
pull your curtain closed—  
shroud us in secrets that  
end just above our waist.

tap on a train faregate,  
a beep reminds us that  
transportation isn’t free,  
a short trip still costs us.  
you’re a seeing machine.  
see what we’re made of.  
we’re trapped here now,  
we can’t hide from flash.

all whirring and waiting.  
don’t know how long ’til  
our capture, our release.  
we kiss from impatience.  
you’re a seeing machine.  
our mouths are blurring,  
hands in hair, bite marks  
in flesh. we have no time.

falling back into the light.  
was there music before?  
we lean against the box,  
we cannot lose contact.  
you’re a seeing machine.  
you take time to develop.  
wait here: a strip will fall.  
freeze us in four frames.

![Black-and-white four-frame photobooth strip of two people kissing.](https://chromato.graphics/_astro/photobooth.CBK1CijU_Z184ngP.webp)

## [dial](https://chromato.graphics/dial)

two-tone composition  
unknown destinations  
an operator obsesses  
over pickup & hangup

one +1 more connected  
than 2. you will. _and_  
_the company that will_  
_bring it to you is me_

push digits into holes,  
keep spinning until you  
feel the click in place  
switch arms, hands tire

blinking countless lines,  
voice carrying fast & far  
on continuous copper wire  
silence costs us as much—

draw X’s & O’s in octothorps  
sleep clutching our handsets  
there is so much to exchange  
during long-distance calling

## [use](https://chromato.graphics/use)

craving total transformation,  
identity a disposed wrapper.  
becoming a vessel for want,  
glass poured into, overfilled.

you haven’t been here lately.  
something in our combining  
always begins this reaction:  
photochemical excited state

learning how to spark again —  
days ago: gel, pumps, bulbs,  
rattling pill bottles and nerves,  
black gloves, gold foil, silicone.

it’s warmed up enough already.  
don’t ask or guess — just _know_.  
take a part you claim as yours,  
shape it to your pleasure. use.

time stutters; the gears grind  
forward under prying pressure.  
repairing hidden mechanisms,  
counting every beat yourself.

disappearing deconstruction:  
ripped apart by heat and light,  
shredded into a thousand tiny  
pieces of steel. shrapnel blast.

there is stillness in oblivion,  
peace made in the darkness.  
clenched fists, soaked linen.  
i swear. i won’t move. i can’t.