Hands
Your hands
in my hands
soft yet firm
moving
squeezing
stroking
insistent
demanding.
Speaking a
half-remembered
language
to which
I instantly respond.
Yet I draw back
at a line,
I can not cross.
Lips mouthing
tender regrets
while our hands
keep talking.
I remember clearly
the ring
in your navel,
but the one
in my pocket
held us apart.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
