There's something about hands
And the wrinkles that lay relentlessly
Attacking the once-smooth skin
Marring it

And there's something about fingertips
Something that isn't quite tangible
But I can feel it nonetheless
Whenever I lie awake at night

And each time I touch
-with these hands-
I can feel you within the texture
And the soft pad of fingertips
That alert me to your presence
Within in me

These hands are your hands
That radiate love
and warmth
And keep themselves warm in winter
These hands are gentle and kind

These hands
are not my hands
Can never be my hands
Because my hands are cold