Her Hands


Christine McIlroy



Her hands were rough but gentle

Callouses forged from a life of battle

Palms as smooth as the finest satin

As they journey across my skin the gestures are blunt but their purpose is smooth

These are the hands of a survivor, a fighter, a warrior

Hands that have destroyed, but now rebuild

Hands that have pillaged, but now bear gifts

Hands that have killed, but now fill me with new life

They seem to caress every inch of me

And while I know their owner is as unsure as I

Their travels take them to new welcome depths

Finding their way as if it was her own body

I can sense each fingertip

Drawing lines on my skin, invisible to the eye

But bright as fire to the heart

Each unique print is burned, seared into my skin

A tattoo of this moment, a testament to this memory

Their destination realised those hands do their best to veil tentativeness for teasing

A heart beat passes, and then I cry out as those strong courageous hands carry out their task

One it seems they have been meant to do from the beginning of time

It feels as though they are supporting me, holding me high as elation fills my soul

The sensation of them being able to hold me aloft for a lifetime as I writhe

I feel the callouses again, rough but welcome in a place far more sensitive than before

Callouses a lifetime in the creating and only to be added to in times to come

For my warriors hands will never be still

They work to undo a part as integral to her as the lines etched in her palms

But tonight in this moment

While those hands may have the determinedness of a survivor,

May be as hardened as those of a fighter, and as courageous as those of a warrior

They are achieving their true potential, reaching the most perfect of goals

They are the hands of my lover, and their destiny is fulfilled.





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