Rough and covered in patches of red. A big, worn-out looking pad...
I look at your hands.
Every now and then, you bite your nails. If not your nails, you suck your ring finger. Your hands- every bit of them never fails to meet your lips. Or so I noticed.
While you speak, my eyes wander to your hands. Your rough, spotted red, scaly and worn-out pair of hands. At first sight, one may be disgusted. But when I catch sight of them- I begin to think otherwise.
Whenever I see them, thoughts flood my mind. How do you write with them? How do you scratch? How do you caress the ones you love the most?
As they gently brush your arm, I imagine what it would be like...to hold them -even for a second. Would they be rough? Would they be soft?
Would they give me the warmth that has been elusive to me these past years?
I'm actually dying to know.
It seems odd that I'm fascinated with your hands. Out of all the sensible body parts, your rough hands intrigue me the most. But know this-
Seeing your rough, patched-red, scaly, worn out hands reinforces every aspect of YOU in my head.
They remind me of your ever-piercing eyes, your dark locks of hair, the edge of your voice, your infatuating reasons...
Your hands recall you.
Mental it may sound but it makes PERFECT SENSE. Your hands...rough, scaly, blushing red and worn-out hands, remind me of you-
Of how I crave to hold them and pull you into the everlasting...
(c) Ashley Petallano 2012
photo from Google Images.