His fingers marveled…
The sense of touch…such a breathtaking, and wonderful gift.
And with this gift, slowly… softly…
He traced his right index and middle fingers down her left arm.
From the shoulder, then bicep…
Stopping for a moment, seemingly eternity,
To feel her pulse at the brachial artery,
Just at her elbow.
The beat of her life, directly from her heart.
Then, as the slightest of breezes floats,
Across the mirrored surface of still, summer pond,
His fingers continued the discovery…
Down the inside of her forearm,
Sensing every nuance of her flesh.
Then, to her wrist, his fingers arrived,
Anticipating the mystery of her palm,
Unique in its marks,
Unlike any other human, ever born.
Finally, his two fingers tracing,
Anticipating the end of the journey,
Found their destination.
Her beautiful, slender, left…
There, at his destination,
He contemplated two things.
One, so clearly seen by his two fingers,
One, by his heart.
First, her skin…the essence of response to his touch, was so smooth.
As if the perfect creation of beauty,
And the essence of sensuality.
A memory his fingers would never forget.
And second, the revelation that soon,
Her left ring finger, now unadorned,
Would bear a band of gold,
His commitment of forever,
The journey of his touch, of her, complete.
© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.