Desperation

The hands that reach for this body are always desperate
Reaching, gripping too hard, too soft, too confident, too anxious
The hands that reach for this body, calloused and smooth
The knuckles busted, scarred or smooth and unbroken
But they are always reaching for me, always out
Always longing to dig their fingers against me
Their nails pointed in against my hips, my breast, my face, my neck
Buried in my hair, draggin' me around or lovingly running them through my hair
They are different colors, different sizes belonging to different sexes
But they reach for me in the same way; Out, like claws, to press against my flesh
To touch me, always to fucking touch me