The last light of day
illuminates your hand,
long fingers, short nails.
Hands that spell out
that you are a man,
other to me, my own hand is
lost in yours and yet
fits as it should.
Shadow is on your face,
but the gleam is in your
eyes, the windows to your
truth and sincerity. I feel your smile,
your smile, your lips drip honey and
honey and jewels, tones
of tenderness, whispers
of need for my love for you.
The heavy air lazily stirs
the wind chimes, the gentle
music almost lost to us. We
talk and are silent, both are
our connection. Touch is enough,
though listening to you feeds
me, nourishes. Your leg arches
over mine, I am safe, understood,
my home is you.
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