Soft enough to wipe away my tears, with them

Endless fear and pointless anxiety, ever inflicting lasting comfort and fatal promise.

Strong enough to catch me before I fall, to pull me back

From the cliff where my sanity and wits hang unhinged,

To keep me grounded and somewhat sane.

Uncalloused and soft, webbed with intriguingly 

Infinite veins I could get lost in

Like miles of unknown roads.

 

Pronounced knuckles comparable to mountains

From the strength and infliction they have endured, 

The steadfast way they never waver to the prominent peaks

And defined dips they form as they grip my own hands, 

My hair, the worn leather of a steering wheel,

Harsh, thorn covered branches, carefully turning

The flimsy pages of a subpar pamphlet surpassing as a book.

Free of dirt—literally and figuratively—untouched by auto grease

Or transmission fluid, yet remaining interminably full of 

Grace and fluidity in every wave and gesture;

Subtle and sadly under-appreciated.

 

These hands have captivated me absolutely,

Leaving me wholly lost in the ineffable an indistinct beauty they emanate.

Capable of endless tasks, both utterly mindless and fiercely disciplined.

Every ephemeral graze against my skin like an everlasting minuet;

Tuning the fine chords to an untimely and unrepeatable melody.

A sweet adagio with every soft brush against my chin or wrist,

A captivating cadence as nimble and unfailing fingers sweep  my hair behind my ear,

Hovering parallel to my cheek bone, chipping and simultaneously tempting.

An arduous andante as your hands wander longer,

Testing the contours and tuning the chords,

Discovering the dips as my breath hitches and my eyes falter.

My hips, my waist, my ribs, my lips.

An almost abusive allegro as your lips find mine

While your fingers define the dynamics of a fearless fantasia

Morphing violently into a sweet symphony.

All the while, your charmed, enchanting and intoxicating fingers

play me

           like 

                   a 

                       piano.