The stories he won’t tell
Are written along the lines of his palm His hands are gentle, soft, yet strong But they hold secrets I’ll never know It is with one touch of his hand My skin tingles and my body aches Even looking upon them I fall for him But the things they’ve done they cannot tell I know the shape of his hands The character of his fingers Every mole, hair, and wrinkle But I’ll never stop them from discipline His hands are the thing I admire the most The way they can change according to his mood The same hands that chastise Are the same hands that caress To hold them, to kiss them, I am honored They make the sinner in me to repent As my desire for him intensifies I’ll be a good girl, the very best sir This is but a lie I tell him and myself If I were a good girl I might never see The power behind his god given palm That corrects me and tells me I’m wrong His hands are what I crave the most Hard and instructive when I need correcting Soft and calm when I need encouragement No one else could ever understand The power, the pleasure, behind his hands
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