Hands: a poem by David H. Roche

Old wrinkled hands that have held wrenches 

and hammers,

hands that have been burned,

cut and healed leaving scars,

hands that have petted kittens,

punched faces,

       masturbated,

       caressed lovers

       and held my face as I cried alone.

       Old wrinkled hands hold the story of my life.

poetry and photography by David H. Roche (C) 2015