I love to watch your hands gently folding
on your lap, unfolding and crossing, shield
like Ammannati’s Venus enfolding
her vagina—wary, caring, to yield
only for fiery Vulcan. Love to touch
your hands, dorsal delicate as your face,
feel your vein lines flowing life-blood with such
passion. Love to kiss your hands, gently trace
palms’ lifelines with my lips, wet tongue explore
graceful ocean of your pores, taste lotion
of your blessed secretions. What can mean more
than your hands’ adagio, slow motion
of your fingers caressing my resting hands,
guiding them home to your enchanting lands?
Roger Armbrust
December 5,
2013
