Thursday, February 9, 2012

His Hands

His Hands

she told him
not to hide his hands
but a life of work
had left their marks
so she said his hands
were tough
hands that knew
hands that knew
her skin

she said his hands
were gentle though
leaving her comfortable
an uncommon softness
to cover the tough
so she’d surrender
to the naked after
as she felt his hands

and she’d notice
the remnants left
beneath the nails
she said she didn’t mind
hands get dirty sometimes
his hands weren’t afraid
so she’d lay still
squeezing time

she felt his hands
she said too much
she couldn’t stop
so she said his hands
were strong
yielding a safeness
his hands could hold
so she left herself bare
and she left words unsaid
his hands knew
and she’d lay awhile

she said this wasn’t
like her
she said she’d miss
his hands

It's been awhile since I posted a poem so here one is. I'll leave it without explanation. Sadly, my hands are growing soft from the lack of manual labor. I do look forward to really working again and toughening my hands.

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