Squinting,
I focus on your two hands with precise laser vision.

Those hands I swore as the blood fills my veins that I knew their cellular intention as well as I savored my own muscle memory of you.

The hands that were magnets, my body first drawn to the heat of them
While I scrutinize every slight movement of
Those fingers and palms
That touched every part of me

Inside and out

Those same skin covered bits of muscle tendon and fibers of nerves
Betrayed me too.

Just like you did.

You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself

How did they feel when they touched the not me?

Any remorse; guilt? (or not enough, anyway)

So I watch them like a hawk, the right hand, the left hand.

My eyes dart back and forth,
Eagle eye boring deep beneath the epidermis to the pulsing veins and bones and sinew.

I turn your hand over to the ******* and trace your lifeline

Searching for that one moment where the decision was made to touch not me

They must’ve stroked and groped and caressed and penetrated the same sort of body parts like me, but different-the not me.

The hands in unison that pulled me to you for that embrace, the one you know which one I’m talking about

Ever vigilant to the conception of time the time that was before and not now
The hands that deceived and destroyed me.

The now indifferent hands, the now careless touch
Me
And
Now not me.