It's always been your hands/ The way they linger/ Slightly askew/ Lightly calloused/ As if poised/ To wield a gun/ Or work the engine/ Or hammer arpeggios/ To jolt me like jumper cables/ As if cradling a ruby/ Within an eggshell/ But now/ They hang limp/ Devoid of fervor/ When I yearn/ For their warmth/ Resting upon my cheeks/ Lifeless as deceased doves/ They move not in recognition/ But rather/ In dismissiveness/ As I attempt to scream/ While you push me/ Off the podium/ The podium you once erected/ With your vascular hands
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