I want feel the soft embrace of wind graze my shaven cheeks--
to be soaring through the feathery stream of nature's touch
I yearn to feel the searing singe of seduction seeping through my lukewarm heart.
I don't recall what it's like to feel fingers set me aflame then chill like a glaciers touch
I speak to empty vessels that have minds like frail hands--
they can't hold anything. Discourse with year long friends feels like a stranger's touch
My fingers are chilly pepper red from an itching rash stems from my listless mind
They seek to messy a canvas, to erect a sculpture, to feel the creator's touch
Your scent leaves scarlet rose petals along the bridge of my nose
I have a fever when you’re near and the chills when you’re away
Your hands have beauty scars from carrying stories
No one told me the creator, muse, and canvas could exist harmoniously in the same body
Will you be my greater, my major, my savior's touch?