I study your hands,
Intertwined with mine.
Missing are the scars
Caused from a wounded life.
The callouses
From hours of dedication.
They’re perfect.
At least in every
Sense of the word.
No scars,
No callouses.
No story.
There’s no hardship
To be founds on your hands.
Your hands have not
Created or destroyed
Anything in this
Chaotic world.
They have no
Clay or paint
Tracing the maps
Found on your palms.
No veins or knuckles
Trying to bulge through.
Always fighting
To be stronger.
No wrinkles orcracks
Caused by doing
the kind of jobs needed
Just to get by.
So yes,
Your hands are
Perfect.
Just not perfect for mine.
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