Their lines, soft and harsh
Their resilience, texture, and strength
How gentle they can be,
the intimacy they hold…
Windows to and from the heart,
They can caress, tickles, stroke, and touch.
Tell all with not a word spoken.
Arousing passion by mere sight and
memory of what they show…
Holding the secrets of our souls,
All that we are and will be,
The tenderness we feel and hard work
we do — in care of those near and dear…
Encompassing all, weighty
with emotion and brimming —
with exaltation for our cherished.
Trembling sometimes with the
fierce intensity of our swoon…
Touching, wanting to touch, unable —
to touch, they ache as our —
souls, hearts and minds do…
They are a spiritual thing about us —
more than bone and flesh and blood…