handsĀ 

Egg shells, invisible, placed 
inside the human skin. 
I try to hold everything with care, I’ll fail, 
it’s how we are designed. 
This story isn’t always sad,
 just wanting to be heard.
Our heart can grow so full
it shapes our palms upwards, ready.
It bends back impulses.
It molds the arms for embrace. 
Melodies and harmonies of our bodies 
but you have to learn to listen. 
We are like clay, hardened when left out,
look for the ones left out,
we have enough water and gentle fingers
to loosen what has turned stone. 
You feel the egg shells when you learn 
to feel each other. Learn how to connect, 
skip past skin, hold the soul. How
I sigh into hands that know how to hold me.
Only so many places I want to ease into, 
one of them can be you.