Fingers move becoming wands
of wonder and of magic moving,
longing to become at one again,
beyond the mystery of sorcery
that feels itself above mortality.

And then the tongue - oh, mystery divine -
that swirls and snakes its way into
unending realms of openness;
sharing all that pleases to appease
this ever-growing sense of urgency;
refusing any nourishment
that does not stem from
the undending realm of love itself.

A tracing motion moves itself,
changing everything within its touch
of utter tenderness that speaks
in volumes of a care that never ends,
sending chills that rise to fall
in an innocence of flesh responding.

Touch to touch, in touch, of touch,
wordlessly communicating
an infinite and intimate
reunion of these forms of flesh;
beginning in one fingertip,
resounding without sound
to all we are . . .


Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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