139/365 : a poem, hand-written, to be put in a 5x7 frame, that you can keep forever as a reminder of what this is

maybe one day the palms of my hands
will be strong with age
but still soft with sensitivity
like yours

maybe i'll look down
at the forest of lines
impossible to read by sight
and remember
the way you used to tell me
to smell your kisses
panting ceaseless yeses
nose hungry, nestled into my chest
whispering, what a woman
what a woman you are, rachael

maybe i'll remember the taste
of always wanting you to stay
and the love
that had no problem
letting you go,

only that empty-home feeling
which happens
when we trust ourselves
to hold all of love's power
in young humble hands