So not gentle

It's a big hand which cries out, 'Manicure needed asap'. That will of course go unheeded. There's also a hint of a thin gold bracelet hanging from the wrist. I'm not sure I like it, but I'm thankful it's not a thick one. Those hands which act before they think, but then I'm not sure brains are embedded in hands. And I keep closing my eyes very time they get too close for comfort. And I keep mouthing 'why' without ever being brave enough to ask. Because I might not like the answer. Because I don't know how to find him, I don't know how to read him, but he is under my skin. The menacing looks which I hold as in defiance, when I know that defiance means trouble. And he never once blinks through that gaze, it'll have to be me to look away and accept that he's won yet another time. And that's when the hands go into it, they seem to love leather too much sometimes. And it's when I turn away that I know I've fallen into his disturbed embrace. The hands which turn into fists too quickly, the fists which rain too quickly.... And this time I know that public or private makes a whole difference. And yet I know that there is a man in there who can be gentle. The one who instantly nurses my injuries. But decides otherwise. I keep hearing you in the wind. And I have nothing to explain.