A.H. Scott: The Touch

Touch of his hand against mine at sunset was divine

Not some overheated twisting of passion was needed by either of us

It was nice to know a man whose hands could be so light upon my skin

His fingers traced my cheek and then my lips, as I laughed in response

Touch me as we stand along the shore and I’m yours forevermore

Tenderness has a weight that a torrid tangle can never compete with

Sun’s going down against the horizon

I walk with you and you place your muscular arm around my shoulder

I touch you with a peck upon your cheek

And you laugh in response to me

That single touch from you was all that I hoped it would be