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.
Copyright © S. Grace | Year Posted 2022
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