His Hands by René Settle

His Hands

By René Settle First Place Poetry His hands were rough, my eyes kept closed. I tried to look, but felt too exposed. He said he loved me, but his hands were tough. It felt like nothing, it felt like something. It felt disgusting. It felt like his touching, my heart thumping, his pulse rushing. It felt like the bonds of trust cutting, like this was his all or nothing. His hands started drumming, he now was grunting. Had he been fronting? I just wanted to be enough. Even though I had been opposed. But this was normal I supposed. But it wasn’t in actuality. I guess I had given up.

His hands were like snakes, oh, how many, many mistakes. All of the headaches and heartbreaks, and all the keepsakes, for xxxx sake. The feeling of my shakes, of the wakes, of the backaches, of the earthquakes.

His hands were rough.