Your touch is lighter now.
Less like bony fingers digging into my flesh
and more like the breeze from butterflies’ wings –
delicate and insubstantial.
It doesn’t suit You, I want to yell
for anyone less delicate than You,
anyone more substantial, I have never met.
You are strength and power and rage
bound up into an almost human face;
Your touch should burn me or freeze me
or make me feel as though
You would strip my bones of their flesh.
You are so gentle with me so often
and yet I never expect it, never believe it,
always turn to You expecting…what?
I cannot say, I do not know,
can only tell You, Beloved One,
this tenderness leaves me awestruck.
You have shown me terrible faces
and I have gazed into them
determined to know You in spite of my fear.
Now You soften for me, love me quietly,
and I cannot meet Your gaze, darling.