touch

the feel of skin on skin
fingers caressing the contours of a lover’s face,
painting her image in your mind ……
exploring her body with your hands …..
you see her in the warm, spicy smell of her
in the sea-salty taste of her lips, her skin ….."

He was blind.
Damaged. Like her.
It made him even more endearing.

He senses her, kneeling beside him on the floor.
Her every movement brushes the air and sends a warming glow
over his skin and through his pores.
The anticipation, before her first touch.

The sound of silver on glass,
the release of the sweet scent of oil,
the glistening drops that land on her palm …..
…… one, two, three, four, five ….. always five.
The slow, soft rubbing of hands.
Then she picks up the tiny bottle again and he closes his eyes.
Drops of precious oil fall on his back and down his spine.
He doesn’t count them.
He is already that feather, floating in the dark warmth of infinity.

Her touch is music played upon his skin.
Soft notes, long and smooth that soothe and caress,
deep notes that seek out the places
where he has buried all the hurting things,
each one held gently in her hands before released.
And then she lets him go,
to drift in the warmth of the silky darkness.

It is her touch he will remember most vividly.
And the warm, sweet buttery smell of her, like biscuits baking,
bringing with it feelings cosy and warm, and a hunger.

chapter 1

touch

Alenka Co

Stonebow, Australia

  • Artwork Comments 2

Artwork Comments

  • Ann  Warrenton
  • Alenka Co
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