Poem: Hands

Hands captivate me, I watch and wait for them to bring me to a place beyond touch.

Small, medium or large, hands are in charge. They pick up. They put down touching texture all around.

Hands feel what the heart can not see. Hands embrace the unlovable and troubled.

Hands have character expressing a narrative of their own down to the bone.

Your hands elegant and sure touch me giving me a warm cure.

Exposed Loving💙, 4.18.17

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