Romantic Gestures - a poem

What is it about a kiss on back of hands that sends soul into feelings of placidity,
that solace that no one else is capable to give with even best self-help guides that are in existence
by the most award winning authors. It is a mystery wrapped in enigmas that hearts
can be calmed when lips touch just below knuckles of a hand, while driving, while sitting,
while laying down on a bed snuggled up and hoping that tomorrow delivers this same
assured way that happiness can exist in simplest of gestures. Where momentary
ideals are seen to expand towards infinity as though on wings of falcons that swoop
and dive to rhythms of sea breezes among other fowl that paints skies with muted movements
of wings. How time seems to erase tension that encroaches upon hearts just because a loves
lips have sought a connection with back of palm.

It is in that way that a thumb rubbed against back of hand that offers a comforter
of security, heavy for warmth, but not persistent in a way that pushes down feet into quick sanded
beaches, where suffocation is imminent. No feelings are wonders, as their digits touch
flesh of fingers, in little circular rotations, as much as what a finger is capable of producing.
There is a security in having a hand taken in a hand, that solidifying of human to human
connection, especially when distance keeps souls and hearts apart, and only words are fit
to print, and no amount of wanting will create a feeling of pressured fingers. As their thumb
makes massages on your hand, how is it that simplest of frequented gestures might
cease screaming tears that are fabric of panic attacks that create anxiety ridden fuel for worrying
minds. For truth is often that simplest gestures are carriers of significant weight.

And then to return back to those feelings of lips, but on facial structures where bones set out
placement for cheeks that they say are sweet, and kissable, and then rewarded with loud
and continuous loving upon them. How chubbiness is pushed in, displaced when their face
is pressed inward, and a smack of lips heard about, unabashedly, unashamed of what someone
might see or hear because they are proud to be loving on you. They are building their budding
affections, and showing a uninterested public that heart feels fully, truthfully, not in worrying
fashions that they should be ashamed of showing it. And you stand full smiled, and heart skipping
rope to beats that pulse with latest love song tempos because every chorus of angels is in their
voice, in that wet sound lips make when they kiss upon cheek. When they tell you you are beautiful
because you are not sure you heard that before from another human being, and you might take a chance to tell yourself that this is true. That you are beautiful,

and they are beautiful for saying so.