(her) Hands Poem by Brian Hinckley

Those ivory fingers flow smooth
over the sandpaper of my hand.
Tips dulled, but not incurious,
map the history of my skin,
tracing rivers and mountains
through those trembling lands.

Her alabaster skin, smooth -
playing counter-harmony to mine.
Tracing knuckle and feeling
the warmth radiate, glowing under
a sun shining high at noon,
her hand steady against my touch.

Soft as pearl, her hands enthrall -
touch, feeling, sensation, assail.
Sliding through my fingers like silk
and around my body like snowfall,
silent, soft skin searches mine,
each fingertip impressing a smile.

Searching hands turn searching eyes,
while searching eyes turn to smiles.