Your Hands Poem by Elizabeth Walker

Hard working man with rugged hard working hands
I’m jealous of those hands,
For they get to rustle through his curly bed of locks,
And lather his taut body all the way down to his socks
They wipe the stray ketchup off his lips
And pull the jeans down over his hips
They flip the pages that engage his mind
They have the privilege of scratching his cute behind
At least those hands are mine to hold
Because he is mine and won’t be sold!