A Certain Softness

We sat close at that dinner table,
In a place known for its wine list,
And haute cuisine.

I took her there,
Not only to provide for a special night,
But a chance to spend an evening together,
Both dressed to match the chic of this bistro.

I thought I knew everything about this
Captivating, strong,
And elegant woman.

I knew that her eyes could both
Communicate and command.

I knew that her intellect was unmatched
And comprehensive.

I knew that her wit would toy
With me, as a cat toyed with its mouse.

I knew that there was no tougher
Or stronger leader when difficult things
Needed to be done,
In difficult situations.

But as the first course led
To the second,
And third, I realized that perhaps
There were things
About this beautiful woman,
That I didn’t know.

So now, dinner complete…
Lights low
My new lesson
With her,
Of her…
Began.

The table cleared,
We took the time to talk,
And explore one another…
As if this savoring was the last,
And most important
Course of the dinner.

And then quite unexpectedly,
Controlling time itself,
She reached to me.

As if floating,
Her right hand,
Graceful, luxurious,
Lifted from that brilliant
White linen tablecloth.

My eyes followed her outstretched right
Index finger…
Slender, long,
Bejeweled with a Bordeaux polish…
A rouge torch,
Lighting the emptiness of space
As it extended,
And moved toward my cheek.

In the slow motion of that instance,
It was all I could do but gaze at her
Fingertip…
Entering my space…
Nearing me.

Despite the stubble of my beard,
Despite years in the sun,
Despite the hardness
Of a hard life…

When her fingertip touched my cheek,
It was as if all the energy of her,
With the power of an
Abundance of healing,
Entered me.

The caress of rose petals…

The finest silk, gently billowing…

The whisper of my fondest memory…

Only began to describe her touch.

With that gentleness, she drew
Her fingertip
Slowly…
From my cheek…
To my lips,

Smoothing the coarseness,
Easing my pain,
Filling me…
With her.

Though only seconds…
That journey of her fingertip
Seemed to last one
Glorious lifetime.

But in that journey,
Expressed a newness,
Unbeknownst to me
After spending so much time with her.

This is what I learned…

Beyond her intellect,
Beyond her wit,
Beyond her beauty,
Beyond her strength,

She possessed a luxurious,
And gentle touch.

A certain healing.

A certain richness.

And above all,

A supple and…

Certain softness.

 

© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

 

 

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