Pass it on

You passed the butter and I touched your hand.
I didn’t mean to, but, like electricity, your presence hit me.
My thoughts were: Move on with the bread,
the cheese, please let it happen again.
I never ate so much as then, longing for just the touch
of your skin. Butter might not be good for us, but
the passing of the food was the best thing
that could have happened that evening
when we were both invited for dinner
and we invited the challenge of touch.

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Comments on: "Pass it on" (12)

  1. You know, when you write this stuff, I always know exactly what you mean. That can only suggest you are a highly observant viewer of those micro moments which are pregnant with meaning in any relationship. That makes you pretty special in my eyes.

    • Hi Peter,

      thank you very much for your kind comment πŸ™‚ I am so glad to make sense!

  2. t h i n g s + f l e s h said:

    Ina, how you layer your poems with charm, formal craft, and engaging humor … so effortlessly. tony

  3. Wow! I love this one! Fabulous and agree totally with Peter! (countingducks)

    L&H xx

  4. Make it happen when you pass the dirty plates down the table. At least have only one degree of separation when he notices he put his thumb in your leftover mustard.

  5. Touching…

  6. Ina, I have to agree with Christine and Peter; I love this one and will think of butter in a more charmed fashion from now on. πŸ™‚ You have portrayed a lovely little moment that happens to all of us! xx

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