His Fingertips

HIS FINGERTIPS HIs fingertips brush over my shy cheek, Softly plethoring an array of wordless sound Into the unresisting ear. We two no longer strangers meet In a tactile encounter where The way leads meandering Through in pleasure To an unashamed portrait of paradise. "Come, taste and see that it is good", Indeed the nectar of a thousand blooms Will not be as thirst-quenching As the hidden walled garden we inhabit For ourselves alone - an abundance Of colour and hue invading our senses. We linger in the centre of things, To draw our feet into the pools, Dreaming of new dimensional space, Where the supreme authority that reigns In quiet power is what we know from moment To sacred moment, The knowledge we possess gives us A gathered insight into the heart of Love with no go-between or intermediary, Love without ending or beginning, Love that touches the hem of the eternal, Becoming one with it, Love that is love personified, Complete in every way.