Hands

Their lines, soft and harsh

Their resilience, texture, and strength

How gentle they can be,

the intimacy they hold…

Windows to and from the heart,

They can caress, tickles, stroke, and touch.

Tell all with not a word spoken.

Arousing passion by mere sight and

memory of what they show…

Holding the secrets of our souls,

All that we are and will be,

The tenderness we feel and hard work

we do — in care of those near and dear…

Encompassing all, weighty

with emotion and brimming —

with exaltation for our cherished.

Trembling sometimes with the

fierce intensity of our swoon…

Touching, wanting to touch, unable —

to touch, they ache as our —

souls, hearts and minds do…

They are a spiritual thing about us —

more than bone and flesh and blood…

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