Her Touch

A revised version of the first poem I ever wrote Her. That means this poem was more than 3 years in the making.

It left me lying deep in an open flower

Filled to the brim with warm honey; sweet nectar

It pushed, shoved, tugged and twisted

At my spirit wringing free the darkness

Until I was pure and dry.

It was Her touch that told me everything I wanted to know and more

Her touch that would raise me and fill me with delight

That touch that in all truth makes me

Again such a reminiscent reminder of gentle obscure origins

Excitement left then and to be picked up again with new warmth

Her touch is like the past and the future felt in the present.

Her touch is beauty and pleasure in essence.