The Silent Touch
Nor do I seek touch to feel whole
But when I'm with you,
The touch deprived bones reveal themselves,
Hair rising to the trails of your handprint.
No one else is allowed this close—
My skin is not a language I let others speak
But I find peace and comfort
In allowing you to caress my arms,
Pinching my dangling insecurities.
I am not familiar of how your hand travels the length of my back,
Nor do I expect your hand to find my face.
But I do know that my small hands
Fold perfectly into your long, gentle fingers
As we meet each other’s gaze in the soft, deafening dark.
And in that quiet, interlaced moment,
I could only wish for the clock to stop ticking,
And for the world to forget how to move,
So that I can stay lost inside your touch
Just a little longer.
