Hands
After months of standing, walking and sitting by your side,
I summoned up enough courage to hold your hand for a few seconds.
Your hands were small, like that of a child,
And mine like giants wrapped yours like a present I wanted to give myself as a consolation of the love I had for you.
With that one touch, I made sharp communications of the intentions my tongue had found dull.
The hands were small, the palm was warm and the nails were short and blue.
That day, my hands were able to tell yours how much I loved you.
And I saw the way your eyes bulged, your cheeks blushed and lips curved to review that consenting smile.
Your hands slid out of mine as if to tell me “this was not the time”.
I would hold on to that consenting curve of your lips and wait,
’cause I know I would hold that hand again and again,
Till your whole body pushes us to pick a date.
A day when I slide a ring,
On that finger,
On that hand,
And then you would have mine.
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