Hands are shaped by
what they hold and make.
Sometimes, I hold your body
tight as a cotton summer dress
on a torrid, sticky day;
Sometimes, my fingers slowly
tracing make it writhe and moan
like a gasping, shocked goddess.
Tell me that my hands are
shaped like love and lust.
Tell me how to touch you
again and forever.
Make my hands
the shape of your desire.

   ~mce