Hands

The truth is this

I may miss lips

And the feel of them

Against the bare skin

Of my neck...

I miss fingers 

Wound between my own

I miss kissing

The palm of his hands

And the security 

In always having 

A hand to hold

On crowded streets

Or sitting on the train

What I wouldn't give

For the security

And warmth in 

The feel of fingers

Laced with mine

And a thumb tracing 

Patterns along my wrist

It would take so little

To undo me

To catch my heart up

Just your beautiful hands

Touching mine