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.
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