i.
Our hands fit together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It’s only right, it’s only natural. Each line on my skin is a record of when I told you I loved you. Every millimeter my nails grow is another measure of the time I’ve spent with you. When we grow old, our hidden moments, our whispered secrets, our special times when the earth and sun moved for us, will be hidden in the folds of our skin. Fingerprints.
ii.
I will act for you with my hands. These hands will throttle. These hands will soothe. With these hands, I will hold up the skull of Yorick, the knife of Macbeth, the ring of Viola. I will tear, tease, tickle. My hands act as well as my face. They are birds. They take fight. They are fists. They come crashing down to destroy. They stroke, they heal. These hands will repair all that went wrong in your world. You wonder what your hands will act for you someday. Will you defuse a bomb? Will you kill a man? Will you love someone so much that you give them your hand?
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Oooh, sorry, I totally forgot about my blog. Here's some hand-poetry to compensate! Done in creative writing, where we had to draw round our hands and write poetry inside them.
