His hands should have <br />their own identity, <br />a name perhaps, <br />befitting each vocation <br />they enjoy. <br /> <br />Skillful hands - <br />finely tuned, they hold every tool <br />with equal panache. <br />Each callous earned, a trophy, <br />yet self-aware, they're gentle <br />as they browse my every curve. <br /> <br />Comical hands - <br />the right one scraping whiskers, <br />razoring down a field of white <br />revealing trails of pink-skinned angles. <br />I laugh at the silly poses <br />skewed by the left <br />so the right won't miss a spot, <br />my just reward, a foamy kiss. <br /> <br />Angry hands - <br />his driving hands, <br />hands that slap the wheel <br />as assholes go too slow <br />or cut in front, <br />directionals up their butts <br />with their heads. <br /> <br />I'm glad the angry hands <br />are only known to live in cars. <br /> <br />Those hands... <br />I love his hands. <br /> <br />(Note: To hear 'His Hands' read by Poemhunter's own Max Reif, go to: www.acidplanet.com/artist.asp? PID=747662&t=1004)<br /><br />C.J. Heck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-hands/
