My hands are small
wrists delicate
but
they are beautifully worn.

I could run
my fingertips
across
your soft skin
tracing muscles
and grasping all of you.

I want to cup them
and catch your tears
hold your sadness
and allow you to feel healed.

My hands miss yours hands
the space
between my fingers
must be made to fit
flawlessly.

I want
that privilege
of intertwining
and
syncing into each other
through touch.