It’s in my touch, love.
On starry, starry nights and the darkest stormy days.
My touch will soothe and it will excite.
It will support and it will play.
You’ll feel it when your little hand gets lost in mine as bad things happen to good people.
As good things don’t happen fast enough.
And I squeeze.
You’ll feel it.
You’ll feel it when my hand invitingly slides up your back as you sit down to eat food, that we’ll only return to when it is completely cold.
The back of my hand will dry tears.
My fingers will trace smiles.
My hand will prepare your favourite meals.
And it will change diapers.
Preferably in that order.
It’ll fix boo boos.
My hand will create.
And my hand will also take care of spiders and the various other creepiest of the crawlies.
It’ll steal your french fries.
It’ll find it’s way to your bum.
It’ll follow yours to the dance floor.
It’ll lead yours to the bed.
My hand will be there.
It’ll stroke your hair when you know you need it. And even moreso when you don’t.
I will rub your back.
My hand will touch.
It’s a touch that says, “You know how some people say that they wish they knew then what they know now? Well I know it now. Right now. I know it. I get it. And I plan on holding on to it.”
And as our hands wrinkle.
And when they shake.
Mine will be one constant.
It’s in my touch, future wife.
And I can’t wait for us both to feel it every day.