lesbians will want to write about your hands the way they wrap around warm cups of tea and clench and unclench with rage and pride she'll notice the delicate length of your fingers how they feel pressing and bruising into soft flesh the art they make, the stories they create the blood sprouted from knuckles in societal protest their kindness, their firmness, their warmth lesbians memorize every mark and line of them how they never strike her how they settle in her own, how they feel inside her how you use them to clasp your bra and pin up your hair the way you draw them together, how they fold into you when they touch to your lips, when they touch to hers how they pass through her barriers, sneak under shirts wake her from sleep, lull her to rest, appear in her dreams lesbians will take them in her own hold them to her mouth, her breast, her heart wonder what they are doing at any time of the day feature them in fantasies and daydreams claim them as her own, as if they were hers love them when they shake and when they are steady she'll want your hands to be her hands and hers to be yours interchangeable, familiar, worshiped