Hands

Comfortable houses for my small hands.

A sizeable, twisting, smooth ribbon that wraps itself around mine; intertwining with each of my pale digits. The small noise of dry skin rubbing together issues from so little contact. Richly tanned fingers snake between my own, clasping desperately at the pulpous, tender skin of the back of my hand that ripples like waves of the ocean as his fingers dig into it protectively.