It was one of those special mornings,
When we woke up together.
Amidst the tangle of sheets and covers,
I watched her, first eyes slowly opening,
Then, that soft, gentle smile creasing her lips.
Framed by dawn piercing the slats of the blinds,
Shadowing on the floor with bars of light…
Love’s prison cell of our own making.
The sunlight’s gentle, growing warmth,
Served to coalesce the warmth she conveyed.
Loud silence drowned all the distractions,
Her eyes and smile captured me,
Totally, in that moment.
Slowly, she pushed her hand toward me,
Extending a part of her,
A symbol of her life beat.
Her outstretched hand entered my space,
Palm facing me,
As if exposing her innermost self.
Singularly, her fingers spread,
Transforming into a fan.
Each joint a masterpiece,
Opening, as if the fingers pointed
To a higher place,
While the gap between each
Drew my eyes back to the center of her palm,
As if welcoming me to enter her moment.
Without knowing why,
I extended my hand,
Replicating her offering,
Close, but not touching,
Our fingers aligned,
The angle, and arch of each,
Palm to palm,
Each finger to each finger,
We gazed at one another.
Then our palms, and fingers,
Though not touching,
Exchanged a mutual heat.
Saying so much…
Committing in this precious moment,
Was shared between us.
Our mutual awakening.
© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.