Your Hands
I love your hands.
You play my body like
A consumate concert pianist,
Running your fingers delicately
Over my skin and
Making my senses sing.
You draw beautiful melodies
From the depths of my soul,
Stroking the strings of my heart,
And all with but the tips of your fingers.
Gentle, strong, you reach
Into me, grasping my core and
Setting my nerves a-tingle with
Lapping tongues of fire and ice.
Slow, your caress,
Mastering me, controlling me -
Your instrument -
Tuning me to please your tastes.
Then, playing me, building,
Coaxing, demanding, lifting me to a
Crashing crescendo, denouement
Soft and tender.
I love your hands.
-January 28, 1999