Two images sit side by side here. In the first, lovers lace their fingers together, the classic picture of closeness. In the second, the speaker does something similar alone, pressing their own hands together and announcing, "I am a lover of myself."
The tone is hard to pin down, and that's what makes the poem interesting. It could be read as a quiet act of self-acceptance: if nobody is holding your hand, you can still offer yourself that comfort. But the word "go" before the declaration makes it feel almost like a performance, as if the speaker is saying the line out loud to convince themselves. There may be a little defiance in it, and maybe a little loneliness too. The poem never settles which. Its short, bare lines leave the speaker's feelings open, so the mood sits somewhere between tender, wry, and wistful.