THE JOY OF TOUCH

Today is one of those cold, cloudy rain days when it is easy to think about spending time with Gwen; not doing anything in particular, just being with each other.  How many times I took it for granted that she would always be there for me to reach out and touch.  This poem is about that:

THE JOY OF TOUCH

I awaken, and, as I often do,

imagine her lying next to me.

She might roll on her stomach,

ask for a back rub

and maybe. . .

Slowly she relaxes under my touch

breathes a sigh of pleasure,

that feels so good, she says,

as my hand once again follows

the contours of more than a body

I never ceased to love

even as it aged beneath my touch.

Alone in my bed

I wonder how many times

we shared the pleasure

of discovering places

that only people long in love

know exist.

I understand now

how the joy of

mutual touch,

shared in a loving moment,

is stored away forever

for times like this.

John A. Bayerl, October 17, 2011

 How often, Dear, we would stop what we were doing and share a hug, or just hold hands at a movie.  We liked being in touch with each other.