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A short, somewhat romantically-inclined poem about an old lover of mine.

I miss the feel of your hands.

Not over my body in some sexual craving,

But the feel of your hands in mine.

The shared warmth. 

The intimacy which shone through this

Far more than our carnal acts.

I miss the feel of paint beneath your fingertips,

Of acrylic on your skin.

The remnants of your artistic soul

Caked onto your exterior.

I miss the feel of your hands

Tensing, easing, releasing pressure

Gently massaging my back, my stomach,

My hands.

I miss the feel of your hands.

Reviews

[mercy party]

great poem. something like that no doubt is going to be missed. it was very true and sweet !