These hands are not mine tonight
no they must belong to someone else

someone that I used to know
used to know all too well

I used to watch those hands grasping endless steaming mugs of tea
wash dishes slowly between 1 and 3 (am of course)
turn yellow pages one by one
how they could fend off sleep with every movement

I used to watch them slick with soap caressing every plate and spoon
folding sheets still warm from the dryer

anything to keep from halting, pausing
resting even for a moments time to think

as I now sit and think looking down at those hands
think how much they still can not be mine

for I am resting, sleeping
halting them from moving endlessly

so they, must not be mine