touch of the old man (from No Rooms without Walls)

His hand sprawled along the bed.
The sheet, cool to the touch.
Inched forward
and then back
as he reached out along
the surface.
Fine threads
beneath his caressing
touch.
Smooth linen as
to cool his palms
from the warmth of sleep.
The smell of wood smoke
at the quilt
wafted up
as spice to his senses,
allowing him to
linger there
for far too long
in
dreamy
absolution.