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About This Poem
His Hands
His hands are mesmerizing;
They move with easy grace.
With wide palms and long fingers,
He stirs this breathless place.
His melody is haunting;
It strikes my deepest chord.
His hands pluck at my heartstrings,
Touch regions unexplored.
I can't help but imagine
Just how those hands would feel
Playing tunes against my skin -
A world of notes unsealed.
He concentrates so deeply,
Immersed in making art.
And here I sit - Pathetic!
Jealous of a damned guitar!
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