Only this.

Only this, my love. Only this in all the world.
Only this, the touch of your hand. Clasping mine.
Firm, sure, brave. Intertwining magic
sends sparks racing through fragile nerves.

Only this, my love. Only this can save me.
Only this, brushing gently against the skin
which anxiety has dampened. Drying now.
Butterfly's wings, almost imperceptible.

Only this, my love. Only this I ask of you.
Only this. Take my hand. Guide my weakened
frame and keep me from the blaring cruelty
of rushing cars, spewing fumes of fear.

Only this my love. Only this is what I know.
Only this. And yet I need not ask. The greatest
comfort of all springs forth in fragrant bursts of
colour, as you take my hand in yours.

“Only this.” you whisper gently.
“Only this, my love. I wish for nothing more.”

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