• There's something about hands
    And the wrinkles that lay relentlessly
    Attacking the once-smooth skin
    Marring it

    And there's something about fingertips
    Something that isn't quite tangible
    But I can feel it nonetheless
    Whenever I lie awake at night

    And each time I touch
    -with these hands-
    I can feel you within the texture
    And the soft pad of fingertips
    That alert me to your presence
    Within in me

    These hands are your hands
    That radiate love
    and warmth
    And keep themselves warm in winter
    These hands are gentle and kind

    These hands
    are not my hands
    Can never be my hands
    Because my hands are cold