His fingertips poised in suspended animation,
in that curious hour between seconds,
until thoughts are sent from his racing mind,
erupting like molten lava on to pristine white
nothingness, as yet devoid of individuality's breath.
Agile language dances across lettered keys,
weaving naked words into daisy chains,
so fragile and enchanting, each held in place
with subtle wisps of punctuation.
He is the conductor of his own symphony,
the music of each heartbeat resonates,
effortlessly matching my own.
Set free, his poetic words rest easy,
knowing I will wake to find them
as they wrap me in their warm embrace.
I know these hands, I have felt their touch,
so passionate and tender, despite their beneficence.
They hold me even when distance
lies beyond the breadth of sensitivity's swirl.
I am drawn to them, they open and close
each morning and night, around my feminine form.
With a flick of his wrists, he chases away my fears.
I sit and watch them shatter into insignificance.
I have seen their strength slice the air around him,
watched the burnished shoots of grass
that dot their landscape, wave in rippled sensations
as they wait for his next command.
Side by side, they steal away attention
from the billowing fluctuations of my life,
leaving me mesmerised and loved.
How do these cosmic giants make contact
with all things, such whispered grace.
They have acquired many skills, from birth to now,
these two halves of a butterfly's wings.
I am forever captured by the strength and
tenderness of his cool, beautiful vessels.
Silver trophy winner
Gold trophy winner
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