These Hands

these hands – adorned with silver, gold and opal – twitch with a need for touch

they tingle for intimacy

my fingertips hold yours; will you be around for long enough for me to learn their print?

the lick of varnish applied before rousing Friday nights wears off by Monday morning; telling of my transgressions

the creases on my palms seem to multiply with lovers had and lovers lost

but I can see the tales of help; they run along my fingerprints… and the untold story stemming from hope…

these hands:

they still reach out

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash