I Touch Your Hand Poem by Mark Heathcote

I touch your hand.
It is a fragment piece of the land.
It is at times a sun-warmed opal.
A time capsule
At other times, it is a cold thirsty desert rock,
Kicked further on down the road.
At times, it feels like granite.
At other times, it is light and soft,
As soothed pumice stone waiting to be carved afresh.
I touch your hand for guidance.
And equally for overall direction.
It is a great comfort to me -always
I cherish my life in your hands.
I am for the most part - happy as a sand lizard
In the sidewinding sand.
But when you withdraw from me.
The lay of the land is quite different and foreign.
I have no land, no country, and
All I have are grains of sand.
Slipping through my dejected fingers
And the taste of briny -tears leaving
My eyelids, and resting on my parched lips.
Wondering, will they ever again be kissed?
Kissed by these landlocked oceans,
That until now, -didn't know how to resist.