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maandag 6 oktober 2014

Hands, by Carol Shlyakhova

My friend once told me 
she liked this guy because of his hands
And I found it absurd that anyone 
would develop feelings over one feature, 
and not care about the rest
It wasn’t until you used your hands 
to cup the back of my neck the first time we kissed 
and I could feel your firm grasp pull me closer, 
and my insides exploded
and my head buzzed with bliss.
And the first night you slept over, 
you fell asleep with your hand 
laid over my stomach 
and your fingers felt like a fire 
that I didn’t mind burning my skin.
The first time we got drunk, 
was the first time you played with my hair, 
and my god I was hooked, 
I’d drink forever if it meant you’d never stop.
And in public you’d hold my hand, 
and rub your thumb in little circles 
that left me wanting you more, 
no matter what you would never let me go, 
I was glued to you, 
and I honestly didn’t mind
When we talked about breaking up, 
you saw my lips quiver with fear, 
and you brushed over my lips with your fingers
before pulling me into your lap 
and you kissed me like never before. 
With your hands on my hips 
pulling me so close to you, 
leaving no space in between us. 
It was then I realized I never wanted you to go
Its now that, 
I finally understand why hands 
were the only feature that mattered
— Hands: Carol Shlyakhova

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