Her Hand On My Shoulder

I felt her hand on my shoulder
as I looked into the artificial reality
of the computer screen.
What is real anymore?
What is of substance
and not artificial
amusement?
I felt her hand on my shoulder,
and I knew the answer.
To be touched by love,
to feel flesh upon flesh
is to abandon the
powerful illusions 
of artificiality.

The tenderness of her
fingertips, the flutter
of my heart, the
whispered sound
of her voice:
"Come, my love; it is time to sleep"
was for me, in that moment,
the announcement of 
angels that love
awaits in the
arms of
The Beloved.

I felt her hand on my shoulder,
not unlike many nights before
when I was lost in labyrinths
of illusion.  Tonight stars
collided and scattered
stardust to light the
way to love's
chamber.