His Hands

Early in the morning,
I go to his room,
and kiss him good morning.

His arms bring me to his chest,
pulling me in like a crane does,
as if pulling a bar to an uplifting building.

His hands are huge,
they wrap around mine completely,
like a lion cuddles a cub.

His fingers are the length of my own hand,
and are somehow comfortable,
in the minuscule spaces between mine.

I miss the way those hands used to grab me,
pick me up only to throw me back down,
and tickle me until I just couldn't laugh anymore.





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