Poem: GoNe

My mind remembers how texture has often taken me to another place and time delivering me to the shores of ecstatic peace.

The feel of soft fine sand as it clings and swirls around in my hand. My fingers eagerly pressing together desiring the fix of feeling every bit of the texture before it disappears through them.

The feel of powdered limestone or chalk fine enough with just a tiny bit of granular residue that tease my fingers if rubbed too often would alter my fingerprints.

Then…

There is also the sounds created by the textures that are enjoyed. Both sounds and the feel captivate me done at the same time I am almost completely gone.

Now…

Bringing into the focus the collaboration of feel, sound and smell takes the texture to another level, higher, the splendor splendidly taking me until I’m lost in being gone.

I give myself these pleasures but not very often and perhaps not often enough but I consent to them just the same.

Even as my thoughts form these words textures invite me to play but just now I deny myself hopefully long enough to make my next encounter that much more gone.

©Exposed Loving💙 6.24.17

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