Intimacy’s Undying Pulse

There comes a time,
often in the long, aching stretch of later years,
when the softness we once knew
feels like a ghostly brushing over skin.

In those moments,

A reach beyond memory’s fading edges,
past the flesh we once worshipped,
to the raw immediacy of now

is often oh so daunting.

How rewarding is the accessible nature of

the velvet sting of a rose petal against fingertips,
the heady breath of orange blossoms in heat,
the hush that roars in silence,
the burst of juice from a sun-warmed berry on the tongue.

To accept…

Intimacy knows not being a prisoner
of youthful longing,
not just the fevered dreams we chased,
or the ones that slipped through trembling hands.

Yes…

We’re still alive,

And can step into the wild embrace
of sunlight spilling through oak limbs,
the cool whisper beneath their shade,
the liquid murmur of a brook licking stone,
the subtle wingbeat slicing the sky.

A deep breath…

Tells you it id still possible
to feel the thrum of connection,
the ache of closeness,
the warmth that rises unbidden

in the pulse of the earth,
in the breath of wind,
in the endless, aching beauty
of nature’s fierce and tender touch.

To smile…

Is to accept the never waning pulse of

endearment’s affectionate solitude.