I looked at his hands,
and compared them with yours.
Long, slender,
fingers plucking strings.
Strong, calloused,
fingers earn a living.
Am I cheating you,
sitting on this bed next to him
His hands are within my reach,
lips I could claim.
Am I cheating him,
thinking of you when you are not mine
Charming, confident men,
your hands create.
Still, quiet girl.
my hands do nothing.
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