The Hands of an Oaf

The night was late when I arrived at her home
Green tea for her, orange for me as we sat on the deck
Buster and Apache, the old dogs under our feet rustling
Half moon and stars settled in the thin clouds above
God paints a pretty night picture for us to enjoy

The subtle invitation almost missed
A precipitous tragedy averted
Soft night light caressing her face
Luminous under the moonlight sweet
Wishing it were me instead

Asking if she had read my words
She smiled and said they are about her
She is flattered by them
Where does this come from she asks,
Are they from memories?

It comes from my heart was the answer
Impressions and words enter my head and roll around
Like a carny making cotton candy at the fair
Gathering more with each pass or passing day
When they are served they are sweet, one hopes

It is with great care that I look at her
Exquisitely delicate from my view
I with the hands of an oaf at times
Afraid to touch her lest she break
Like sugar spun candy, lovely

I am afraid of the very thing that my soul aches for
I promised myself that I would not risk this again
I watch the softness of her face across from me
The warmth of her smile subdues my angst
Her tender blue eyes wash the fear away

Is it because of my illness, she asks?
Not at all, for that there is a solution
It is simply that I do not want to hurt you
To do so would be tragic for me too
I with the hands of an oaf at times

The night is late and we are tired
I take her in my arms and bring her close
Her arms around my shoulders
I kiss her lips the first time, gentle
I do not want to leave her embrace

As she walks me to my car we stop
She shows me the toad that lives in her shrubs
Gently she bends down, lightly touching him
He sits as would I, unmoving, as she caresses him
He understands the tenderness in her that I am discovering