Hands

Your hands were huge,
Thumbs thick,
Hairs sprouting from 
Knuckles.

It is raining as we drive 
And the tyres make 
Immediately forgotten tracks
Through shimmering puddles.

Simmering tension
Lies within each bulging
Drop that sits upon the
Cool windscreen.

The window creaks 
As I open it and cast my 
Out stretched hand up 
To the sky.

You are thirsty 
So I try to collect a cup,
But my hands are too small
And the liquid is not strong enough.