Loving hands

April 13, 2011

Looking at my hands today.

Getting wrinkled.

From age.

And the sun.

But full.

With memory.

Of reaching out.

For other hands.

In laughter.

And in sorrow.

Of caressing lovers.

And pleasure felt.

With fingertips.

And a sensual touch.

Of stroking hair.

And holding tight.

To parents.

Slipping from me.

Of children loved.

And noses wiped.

In a mother mix.

Of strong and soft.

Hands that.

Know more.

And remember more.

Than I.


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