I look at my hands

i look at my hands and

remember all the beautiful things 

i have touched.

i remember lilacs and spider lilies

and seas and my favorite buildings

in New York City.

i mostly remember you.

how to you your body

was a night without stars,

a day without the sun.

how it was such a dark place

in the world you crafted in

your head.

i remember showing you 

with my hands and soft whispers

how moonly your flesh

can be.

how perfectly imperfect

women like you are and how flaws

are meant to be adored

and never scorned.

i look at my hands

and remember you like any man

remembers the woman he

truly loves; your soul first,

then your body follows.

by Christopher Poindexter

My hand © Jennifer Phillips