On the sofa on a hot summer day

I sit with my left hand fitting
on top of the well-groomed head of our cat,
My fingers between his perky ears and lean jaw
That lean into the massaging of my hand,
which in turn,
draws from him purrs
and rubs
and tufts of black hair
which float away
like milkweed in the breeze.
Meanwhile,
my right hand cradles
the head of our yellow lab,
her eyes contentedly
closing and opening
as I rub the indentation between them.
I feel the velvet earflaps,
stroke the muzzle and throat,
and work my fingers under her collar,
scratching around as she presses herself into my hand.
If I stop
an imploring paw
swipes at me.
Each of these friends takes pleasure from my hands.
And I take pleasure in them, through my hands,
feeling the warmth, affection
and simpatico we share.