His Hands
I love him. Every single strand of hair, his strong body and his beautiful face. I love every inch of him. But what I love most are his hands.
Yes his hands.
Hands that give me unspeakable pleasure; who would have ever thought those hands could be so wicked and cold. Those gentle hands are stained with blood, but I don't care. Those hands have saved me multiple times. Those hands will always be there for me.
I forgive his every misdeed just as long as those hands never stop their ministrations. Those blood stained hands are mine to love and to cleanse. I love his whole self, but his hands are what I love the most.