2.397 Seconds

2.397 Seconds

It is ritual, perhaps an act of
reassurance to make neat that
which feels askew.
It is centuries old this action that
crosses genders to me for that
2.397 seconds it was love anew.

It began with a rise of your hand
as the other was resting atop the
divide that to me seemed as though
it placed you on the other side of
the Grand Canyon.

My role in this was as an observer
who, quietly, faithfully admires an
honors you.

What felt you as the hand brushed
across your head as it seemed
for only a brief time span as it was
captured in that moment?

How can you know of the heart that
froze in loves swirling maelstrom
when in your life the act was most
likely forgotten whereas to me
it was an unforgettable proponent.

To me, a spring board of loves
continuing renewal. So wonderfully
pure, innocent and serene while
blanketing my heart in all things
this passion – as it is oft to do
when time and events bring us near
all I can do is give you the
greeting of the day.

My station is not to bring attention
to how lonely this heart in its desire
wanting the warmth of your body
to feel its strength, to cradle it in
the warmth of your hands – is this so
out of fashion?

I could sense the ridges of your hand
tingle slightly at first touch of hair
that yields as does soft cotton
candy as it molds beneath the touch
of hands before melting on an eager
tongue. Each follicle responds as
each hair is disturbed, shifting
ever so slightly and seizing that
moment to stimulate briefly the
nerves that surround each hair root.

Tickling tingling in response to the
touch movement of hand upon hair
perhaps it is a conditioned response
perhaps a response or action when
certain stimuli are present – act
initiated, action forgotten,
act completed. Who would give a hoot?

Being said fervently positively
earnestly honestly did I add
remarkably candid hold true, I
would do you an ill turn if I had
not visualized then analyzed
the event as I told you.

Shortly after putting pen to paper
and finger to keyboard did loves
struggle bear fruit upon soft pages.