When you held my hand

I wondered if it was in endless day or night when you suddenly held my hand?

Did you remember that day, dearest?

I mulled over your delightful introduction about a laundry-woman who mistook you for a Japanese.

When your eyes dilated that it wrinkled the corners of your lips?

You laughed so hard that I drooled at your fine crevices.

Yes, how I loved to feel you gyrated in ecstasy!

Did you remember?

When I gave you a faint laugh while I touched the edges of your beard?

What could be more enticing than seeing you giggle like a sexy twenty-one year old boy?

Did you remember my friend?

My friend who after seeing your hand clasped with mine poured all baby powder on her face for cover?

Yes, she was very funny.

Dearest, when you held my hand I felt different.

I was calm and forgiving, dumbfounded yet letting.

When you gripped my hand, it was more than reassuring.

Did you remember how you did it?

I bet the CCTV captured it.

It was mild and swift that it stopped me from pulling away.

Oh dear what were you thinking then?

I wished I had the slightest idea.

Or if it was part of your plan, I wished I had known soonest so I could just let myself overdosed by its warmth in thirty seconds.

Love, even so. I was content by the effort you put in.

And just like you and your daring surprises, my heart tripled exponentially!

So the next time you desire to hold hands with me, I ‘d be bravest to hold yours ardently.