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I dreamed of you last night
I had to call you...
Which is something I would never do..
There was an urgency about it...
In this dream, I had to talk to you...
So I broke the unspoken rules...
And she answered the phone.
We exchanged sarcastic pleasantries. ..
Both knowing the other...
What we both are..
I asked her to tell you I'd called..
Knowing she wouldn't. ..
I awoke unsettled....
Feeling like I need to speak to you...
Wishing I could call you like I do in my dreams
I won't call....


Maybe you will....

E.J.M.
'... And she had come home to a family that she was about to destroy..."
Ivy Botticelli
~

the true art of loving is
to never stop touching!

touching, holding,
caressing, stroking...
such is the nature of
love's connection;
a twine intertwined
through touch,
the stringing,
the *******,
the fingers that clasp,
that reach out to grasp;
oh marvelous,
tenderest touch!

why is it that
any of us stop?
would we,
could we,
if we really knew?
that touch was a gift
one of the few
that gifts immortality,
gives liberality;
indeed,
would we
ever,
or
never
stop touching?

and God could only
know why
we would ever ask
to be left alone,
cold as a stone,
the untouchable we;
how could we deny
that one, that only
who for our heart longs
truest mate of our soul.

babies need it,
toddlers do it,
children want it,
teens use it,
young ones wish it,
lovers gift it,
mid-lifers pine and
seniors return to it...
there is never
a stage or
a cycle of life
where we should
or ever could
cease to be needing it
ever stop touching
or being touched.

for touch is
love's connection,
the umbilical chord,
a neuron cable,
the neutron bundle,
oh blanket of hope...
it feeds us,
a life line,
an air line
that needs us;
a love line to
the divine
that renews us,
and will
inevitably,
ultimately,
eventually,
totally
hold us,
as we walk
the path through,
eternity past,
present and
what is to come!

for touch...
indivisible from love,
and love never dies;
love never ceases!

yes,
the true art of touching is
to never stop loving!


~

*post script.

we watched so many who loved
stop touching through the years
and then wonder what happened
as embers once hot grew cold.
touch is a gift,
to be shared
and not hoarded!
the one I got never to see
the one wiped out silently
yet the most precious

what could you have been child
killed as the fetus!

the one that was never born
whose smiles walls didn’t adorn
yet the most precious

what could you have been child
killed as the fetus!

the one never known to me
the one that was never to be
yet the most precious

what could you have been child
killed as the fetus!

the one my own broken piece
the one I would ever miss
and the most precious

what could you have been child
killed as the fetus!
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