Touch, a spectrum,
Pleasure, peace, and affliction.
Too little or too much
Distorts the stimulation,
Turning tenderness cold
And neglect burning hot.
To fear touch,
To know my flesh can feel.
Disassemble itself lasciviously,
Dismember itself in pain,
Falter, fall apart,
Or give way to forced entry.
It never stops,
Permeating everything,
Inside, around, over-top.
Sinking into puddles,
Poring down my chest,
From fingertips to drawing breath.
