Big hands,

he had big hands

and a really small heart.

That's how the saying goes,

doesn't it?

No, wait,

it's cold hands,

warm heart.

He had warm hands,

hot almost,

at least that's how they felt
as they traced my skin

and left ashes in their trail,

volcanic lava cascading 

in and out of my being

until all that was left

was a fossil,

dug out millions of years later

to reconstruct history.