My hands are rough <br />I can see the lines <br />and how they’ve changed their route <br />across my palms <br /> <br />and I saw you stare at them <br />and then at me <br /> <br />but I’ve nothing left to give <br />my skin is raw <br /> <br />and you’ve grounded <br />all the mounds <br />until they’re flat <br /> <br />but still you’re begging <br />and still I’ll cup my hands <br />and pour what’s left <br />upon your bloody heart<br /><br />Sheila Knowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-hands-are-rough/
