face it

I never let anyone
touch my face
before you.

I’ve swatted away
my own daughter’s
small, starfish hands
too many times to count
because it felt
so gross and wrong –
an intimacy meant
for someone I hadn’t
even met yet.

But when you
put your hands on my face,
stroke my cheek with your fingers,
brush my lips with your thumb,
I close my eyes
and melt into your touch.

Maybe you were made
to touch me.

74/365 – A Poem a Day For a Year

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