Your fine-boned hands are the focus of my dreams.
Thus it is; no melody sounds as sweet as your tap on the door.
Your hands have their skill. When I first saw them
And your fingers touched my palm
It was as though every Oriental balm
Poured into my spirit, that spirit ever a-light;
Healing it, freeing it, whispering that it would be alright now.
Your hands are the focus of my dreams
Not all as calm as I thought it could be.
In my dreams my longing took hold
Touch, skin, palm and magic balm.
Now touch my hand and show me if what I thought was true
That love is, was, and is surely what I thought I saw in you.