Hands

Your hands move

Like they are underwater:

Wrists first, fingers follow.

The motion leaves bubbles in the air.

I can see through your skin

To the work of your heart in your veins.

Translucent skin is easily torn.

Patches of blood rest in your nail beds.

You are careful with your fingerprints,

And you let each one catch its breath against me.

I’ll hold these hands until the skin sighs its last.

Rest here Clever, you are mine.