The Touch of Another

There are days I when loathe the touch of another, Where fingertips burn like cigarettes upon my skin, And a hand on my shoulder carries the weight of the world. Moments where comfort could cure, but I must ride out the pain. There are moments where I am a normal human being, Where I can shake a hand without the inner recoil of disgust When a kiss upon my cheek is just a kiss upon my cheek And my mother can hold me in her arms long enough to feel it. There are times when everything has a meaning, When two eyes lock and suddenly it’s a love people write poems about, And I long to melt into each crevice of your skin, down to the bone, So that when you finally leave, you’ll take me with you.