Hands


Your gentle fingers braid themselves
in the crevices of my hand
Blindly looking for a place that fits just right
Sticky palms clutch sticky palms in passing
searching for their other
I hide behind my hands, letting them be touched
Shaky fingers dance 'bout my knuckles, playground for exploration
Tender lips steal my hands with del'cate wonder
WE whisper by painting rough circles
through our nail crafted patterns
We scream by squeezing, fingertips turning red
We laugh by drawing, pictures and letters
spelled out across oiled skin
We cry by the blank space lying between us
And we smile by holding on, letting each other know we are there
We have hands that speak words, that do more than hold
Hands that can tell stories
yours calloused and torn, mine with bitten nails
We have hands that seem to fit when interlaced
Hands that will never let go

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem