My hands are rough
I can see the lines
and how they’ve changed their route
across my palms
and I saw you stare at them
and then at me
but I’ve nothing left to give
my skin is raw
and you’ve grounded
all the mounds
until they’re flat
but still you’re begging
and still I’ll cup my hands
and pour what’s left
upon your bloody heart
Sheila Knowles
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-hands-are-rough/
