you reached for me...

you reached for me, arthritic hands, stretching across the bed
attempting to grasp my wrist, my hand, my arm
whatever you could manage to enfold in your tightly held fist
and then slowly your hand relaxed and softened

my wrist became your pillow, your solace and perhaps a lover
long gone; caresses bordering on sensuality in
adjusting my shirt cuff, my jacket sleeve, the ring on my finger
carefully, repeatedly, with rhythm all your own

sitting up in bed now, reaching for me with your other hand
I spoke softly to you telling you to sit back down
and then the cry, the keen, the wail that broke forth from your
throat went quickly out of the room for all to hear

hard touch, soft touch and then that sharp cry of wildness
first the grip, then the caress and then the call for
help or signal of distress; each cycle a different time span
repeated through the darkness of the morning light