Oh those hands

Tender and beautiful, the details and haptics hold living intimacy in its warm remembrance, like a shadow in a slant of sunlight.

Nothing like those moments of falling in love. Tight

There is something so mesmerizing about those first five lines, cinematic if I must, that brings a warm and tender feeling, capturing a moment so innocent and unassuming, it imprints itself in the memory forever.
Truly amazing.

I've a thing for hands. They're how we physically experience the world and they deserve appreciation!

I've a thing for hands. They're how we physically experience the world and they deserve appreciation!

The hands of the skilled artisan creating memorial masterpieces.   Looking at yourself, you relive the brush strokes, feel the contours on your canvas as he created a masterpiece to be hung in your mind's art gallery.

I noticed you have a few poems with "hands" in the title, I gather you are attracted or drawn to them.

They're my favorite part of the body. I don't know why. I've always looked at hands. They are enchanting to me. The people in my family are rough with our hands. Just full of memories written in skin. My mom had our names tattooed on her fingers. Her mom loved to paint her nails bright red and wore bright gold rings with garnets. They'd glitter while she'd brush the hair out of your face. My dad and my uncle's had some intense working hands. One uncle could never get his hands clean from working on cars. Black stained hands are pretty common in my family. One uncle had cracks in his hands from fishing. My great grandma had the most beautiful hands with bright blue veins and thick joints. Her skin looked like tissue paper covering bones. My sister has scars from working with animals. My brother has a nail that will never grow right because he hit it with a hammer so hard when we were kids.

Hands, man, they're everything. They're our history and how we'll experience the future.