The Miracle Of Your Touch

No science can explain it.

No supercomputer can discern its elements.

But this,
I know.

When I am failing,
And sorrow begins
To flood my eyes,

Just your finger tip,
Caressing my cheek,
Wiping away
The tracks of those tears,

Heals me.

When I want nothing more,
Than to shout to the world
My successes,

Just your finger tip,
On my lips,
Restrains and centers me,
Reminding me of the power,
Of humility.

When I struggle,
With the burden of fatigue,
Both physical,
And emotional,

Just your finger tip,
Tracing a silken line
Across my chest,

The burn,
To touch,
To connect.

No one can explain it
Nor dampen its power.

I simply accept,
Succumb to,
And relish,

The beauty of…

The mystery of…

The miracle of…

Your touch.



© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.



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