The Palm of Your Hand

أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

in it, the very fingertips i have longed to hold, to touch, to kiss, the palm, where await my tickles and traces, outlining with my own the folds of your skin. such a simple pleasure, magnified to infinity until the moment comes for Him to fill a wish to its measure. if it were possible to simply love and thus have that be your guidance, your ship would never steer amiss, your heart always know the truth of its present, but such precious gifts as what guidance is, His and only His to give. still, i will never cease, by His permission and so long as i breathe, to pray that your path straightens at your feet, ever apparent and easy to traverse, with you always finding what you need. speaking of which, you, my necessity, the gift to transcend notion of gift, acceptance to surround my soul, surpassing what all other mortals combined have ever shown, my Garden could never begin or be complete, until your hand first mine found, after which should we then feast.