A Life in Hands

First, a boy

whose hands are hot

and sweating bullets

his eyes are warm

and seem to glow within

sweet with the love of youth

but they are not the right

eyes or hands

the next is like an oak tree,

strong, solid, immoveable 10

his hands are large and

I feel as if they could

anchor me to this earth

but his eyes are on the stars,

and our minds run parallel,

they cannot meet, just run beside

Another fires my blood

and makes my heart leap

with equal fear and longing

his hands are forceful 20

they command me

and I follow, pliant

and feel invincible

But bright eyes are not

enough when hands do

not speak of hearts

One, still yet a boy,

slim limbs and

luminous, long-lashed eyes

confounds my reason

a poet-child, his fingers

thick but soft,

try to map my form

but miss the mark

like the last,

his hands and eyes

speak different words

but neither speaks

to his heart

I shall not go.

Hearts last far

longer than

hands or eyes

Like what you read? Give Amanda Harvey a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.