Betim Muco Poet Free verse

My Hands

My hands
With the fingers
Brushing through your hair 
Searching for the freshness
Of your skin
Like a thirsty traveler 
Looking for an oasis 

My hands 
Restless curious 
That loved to touch the keyboards
Of the sky's
Grand music

My hands
With the fingers 
That often concealed 
The sign of victory 
Or were crossed
For luck

My hands 
With nicotine stains 
And pollen 
With a pencil's trace 
From pressing too hard 
Or with tips smashed 
From beating on the keys

My hands 
Trying to keep 
In their palms 
The running water of time

When I am out of breath 
They'll tap from within
The wooden coffin
To tell of the desires 
Only they know

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