Touch Me Here

Through my closed eyelids the soft light looks at my skin, warm from the sun. I hear no one and wish anyone were here. My chest inhales to cool my blood, pounding, saying, 'flight or fight'. 'Touch me', I think. If you were here, you would touch me. Hands cool and rough; gently hold my legs above the knees: 'long and lithe', you say. 'I want to open my eyes now', I am glazed over and dull. Please. I can't not come with you today. You were gone and I wanted you. I'll tell you quietly, 'your hands are golden,' or I'll keep Quiet and breathe shallow near your ear. I'll tell you, "You're a god," if you touch me here. I can wait until the sun drops out of the sky, dew condensing on the grass, cold and green. I prefer the sun, but I'll lay on the cool lawn at dusk. Just touch me here.