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.
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