The Joy of Touching
The Joy of Touching To touch softly, your skin is bliss. To taste and smell you, is like coming home to a warm house. When you are absent, I ache. When you are here, I ache. Praise the Only One for these two infirmities. I gaze at my blue eyes in a mirror and suddenly, your face appears. You have left me, a wreck. The sands blow freely in my desert heart. Why have you gone? Why did you come here? When will you return. Shams says, "Relax, this is no great matter. Love blows where it will." Sign in to see full entry.