Your Hands

This poem is dedicated to my husband, Kevin, who happens to be paraplegic, and to all the veterans who have come home shattered by PTSD, limb loss, paralysis, traumatic brain injury, and more.  There are women who will understand and love you and there are men who will understand and love you. (I have PTSD and anxiety for non-war related reasons)  There are men and women who need your love, which no bomb, IED, or terrorist can ever diminish.  Male or female, you are still whole human beings.  Television tries to convince us of lies about our sexuality.  The absolute truth is: the most important sex organ we possess is between our ears and in our chests with each pulse of our hearts that says, “I’m still alive, I’m still here.”

May you be blessed with joy, love and peace in every aspect of your lives.  To quote a young, and very wise woman, “You’re still an innocent.” Taylor Swift

YOUR HANDS

Restless, in pain, I lay down in our bed

hoping for respite.

As if summoned by an unspoken plea,

I feel you reach for me.

Your hands, large and strong,

gently stroke my arms, my shoulders,

and answering a silent wish,

cup my breasts;, gentle, knowing, soothing.

Settling my fight, flight or flee response,

kindling a warmth that spreads like

a healing fever, encompassing me.

Heart, mind, soul – your hands softly speaking

your unconditional love in ways that your

words could never convince me.

Before I close my eyes, tears spilling

over  their lids,

I take your fingers in mine,

and kiss your palms with all the love

and passion overflowing in my heart.

Innocently, I revel in the melting

sweetness between my lips,

before placing your hands back home

on my  breasts,

soft but for the peaks, you have

led me to so many times before.

Your hands speak with an eloquence

words can never capture,

soothing away my worries, doubts and fears

with their constancy and faithfulness.

Beloved, my lover and mate for life,

I thank you with everything I am

or will ever be,

for the certainty of  the love I feel,

emanating to me through your hands.

Janet Landis