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

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