Muestrame

Again
my heart finds the freckle on the back of your hand
watches it move in the space between us
draws a line from that freckle to its twin
four inches up
four inches of humble skin.
My heart trails to your fingertips
gentle, neat, sure
all things I will never be.
I watch your fingers curve and flex
your wrists turn
subtle as sunrise
the space between two feckles steady
(another thing I will never be)
and then a voice
the voice which has been low and soft beside me these two minutes
asks if I got all that
asks if I know what to do now
and I tell your hands
no
show me again.