holding hands

I want to hold your hands
press your fingertips one at a time
against the tendons, bones and skin of mine.
Each one houses something special,
something lovely
about who you are.

Index finger
for intellect
a thinking and inquisitive appendage.
Place your smarts
smartly on my knuckles
let them rest there
while I'm lost in thought.

Relax your middle fingers near my own
emotional vitality
feelings
filling these.
I want ours near each other now, and intertwined.

Rest your thirds against my skin
curiosity is housed in here
and questions, wonders at the world,
astoundment and amazement.
They inspire me to search.

Your baby
pinkie
careful with this one
it's fragile and can easily break.
Trust me with its care. I will cradle every tiny crack of skin
or film of frailty in there.
Any insecurities I find just make your fingers that much smoother,
stronger, sexy in my hand.

Your thumb.
Push it.
Press it.
Hold it hard
against the soft spot right next to my own.
Your heartbeats will pulse in through my pores
keeping time with how you feel
bring me up to speed with you
or slow me down. I am too excitable to sleep sometimes.

Holding hands is not a race.
It's comfort. Hope. It's happiness.
It's understanding,
one little finger at a time,
holding more than hands.