His touch – taking my hand, innocent – or as innocent as He can be – is ecstasy.
His touch is like that perfect moment of intoxication: when you’ve drunk just enough wine to feel wonderful, perfect and free. When you feel you can do anything. When you WILL do anything.
Any more and it’s drunken stupor – idiocy or sleep. But left alone it will fade. If you are able to think clearly you know it won’t last and you try to keep drinking just enough to keep it going, but it never works.
Except with Him, it lasts.
I am transformed. Wild, but at the same time more beautiful, grace full.
(A spontaneous attempt at poetry, inspired by last night’s dream.)