Celibate

I hold you
fragile as a dream
in the cup of my hands.

You move toward me,
ebb away,
a tidal flower.

And my body,
forsaking touch,
nods familiarity
with the ritual dance.

Oh, but my mind,
ever my m ind
reaches out to caress
your vivid, unsuspecting spirit.

from A Hermit Holds My Heart
Ellen Porter
Benetvision