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Betty Luceigh, c. 2005

When your hand touches me gently,
your palm offering a resting place for my cheek,
your fingertips on mine,
or your splayed hand on the back of my heart,
you give me a gift of kindness,
too spacious for any container with a ribbon,
too delicate for any words expressed in a card.

Kindness flows from your hand,
uninterrupted by any hesitation from you
or any refusal from me.
Touch that is not in preparation of love-making
can be of even deeper intimacy,
that of Peace with another human being,
life in contact with life,
one to another as another to one,
in a shared moment of sublime tranquility.