I've got to hand it to you, the curvature of your palms are so impeccable, that they easily slip into the palm of another, with skin smooth or roughed by work, and yet even those fingertips, slender, stubby, even some missing or bent, can delicately intertwine as if all gestures could be made together and your skin and fingerprints could merge with each touch like a puzzle piece offered in twos, designed to craft and to hold on forever.
Original prompt said to write about a body part so I chose hands. Let this poem lighten up the place since I'm spamming my feed rn.