I wish I had a lover who would allow me to touch.
A quiet night in early summer I would lay you down on the slightly wet grass
My hands will follow the lead of your skin
To the superficial fascia that stores the sorrow and joy of your being and that
Forms your form you present to everybody else but to me.
Lead my hands, My Love, toward your deep fascia that holds
The strength and vulnerability of your physical being.
My hands travel over the ever-changing topology of your muscles
In awe of a wayfarer who has found the land of grace nobody ever touched.
My hands are a witness of the grace unfolding
Layer by layer you allow me to touch,
And then I hold your heart in my hands
And dance the heart dance to the beat of our heart.
Then I will let you go, My Love,
Your peaceful skelton to the waves of the ocean that caress the sands
Where our castles once were.