Touching the Eye

Touching you, your skin so cold, flat, hard the sickness within you like muddy water after a downpour, how could I stay. I could, I could not run... from the death in your hollow eyes, the limpness of your skeletal fingers. Don’t run. Life seeks life, succubus to the energy of kindnesses, chi. Stroking your broad forehead the horizon of beyond comes clear, clear to me. Yet fear, is all you feel and the wind of black holes, all you hear. The eye of I, connects with the we of Thee, momentarily, rosing a cheek hesitantly, lifting the corner of lip as you, through the we remember He. Touching....