18 10 2013

Touch me

and I get hard

my heart  goes from jogging to sprinting

and my chest flowers with red,

like a drop of colour in water.

Touch him

and I grow soft

shrink into the corner of the room

my heart bellows behind its cage

and my eyes swiveling, surveiling and recording the crime

your hand now fire and ice.

I don’t remember all the touches —

hand on skin, lips on skin, skin on skin —

all the touches more valuable and treasured than this touch with him.

Help me to remember these touches

to blow away the fog so I can see:

A touch is just a touch with him

but a touch with you is an experience in our minds and history.



2 responses

19 10 2013

Did you write this?

19 10 2013


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