Smooth

His fingers marveled at
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 to the 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…

Ring finger.

There, at this destination,
He contemplated two things.

One, so clearly understood by his two fingers,
One, by his heart.

First, her skin…
The essence of response to his touch,
Was so soft,
As if the perfect creation of beauty,
And the essence of sensuality.

And second,
The revelation that soon,
Very soon,
Her left ring finger,
Now unadorned,
Would bear a band of gold,

His commitment of forever,
To her.

This journey of his touch,
Of her,
Was now in fact,

Just beginning.

They had so much more,
To explore of one another…

All promising to be smooth…

So very,

Very,

Smooth.

 

 

© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

4 thoughts on “Smooth

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