lesbians will want to write about your hands
the way they wrap around warm cups of tea
and clench and unclench with rage and pride
she'll notice the delicate length of your fingers
how they feel pressing and bruising into soft flesh
the art they make, the stories they create
the blood sprouted from knuckles in societal protest
their kindness, their firmness, their warmth
lesbians memorize every mark and line of them
how they never strike her
how they settle in her own, how they feel inside her
how you use them to clasp your bra and pin up your hair
the way you draw them together, how they fold into you
when they touch to your lips, when they touch to hers
how they pass through her barriers, sneak under shirts
wake her from sleep, lull her to rest, appear in her dreams
lesbians will take them in her own
hold them to her mouth, her breast, her heart
wonder what they are doing at any time of the day
feature them in fantasies and daydreams
claim them as her own, as if they were hers
love them when they shake and when they are steady
she'll want your hands to be her hands and hers to be yours
interchangeable, familiar, worshiped