These hands once touched for the first time. Young, smooth, strong, erotic.
In the beginning a held hand drives the eros of the future.
But the hands of a marriage? What poet can tell the beatitude of a touch? What warrior can endure the ruin of a violent or indifferent hand?
I have seen this: Toward the end a held hand is the seal of endurance, the wisdom of eros abandoned because it had done its hard work, a hand extended in nothing more or less than a gritty agape, still sacrificing but now at peace with the asceticism of love.
Nicely said AND done. Your hands, too, Steve, spoke volumes to both of your parents. Blessings beyond words. Thank you for taking us on your journey and demonstrating both human and Divine Love. (Flawed though we all are.;-)) <B
well said. such a powerful image - thank you.