There is so much to be said about the human body but I would like to focus on one specific part for a moment.

Hands

There is something so magnificent yet terrifying about these rather small body parts, in comparison to the rest of you. Hands are capable of fixing and breaking and shaking and crushing and holding and letting go.
(Please do not let go of me.)
There are little creases that tell stories and lead to greater things, like the rest of you.
Hands, like the rest of the human body, come in all shapes and sizes and tones and textures. They can be rough or they can be soft, every pair has the same capability as the next.
Hands are the root of Touch. Hands are the root of Feeling.

I think about hands a lot; your fingers dance around in my head.
There are stories embedded in your palms and I will listen intently to every word they whisper or scream.
There are little fires on your fingertips and I cannot wait for you to set me on fire.