The Gentle Man

In the tender hands
Of the gentle man,
Love grows like a rose
Whose petals open to show
The woman he knows.
And soft is his touch
That strokes her skin—
This slow, kind act
For which she wishes
To grant him forgiveness
The moment he asks it.
She wonders where he learned
The lost art of hesitation,
How kiss and caress differ
In every conceivable way
And why one of his glances
Makes her knees quiver.
Each night she prays
He will never go away,
Leaving her vacant and dry,
Unable to seize the desire
Which waits so patiently
In the tender hands
Of the gentle man.