I am not too sure of where this completed piece came from. I know the idea of a first touch came to me this morning, a clear image in fact, but as I started writing it kind of for away from me. Anyway, I hope you like it.

Anticipating that first touch,
Like spark from new-born fire.
A pin prick stab that makes heart jump,
That causes racing blood to pump
Through veins like dancing wire.

As touch develops into feel,
A heat passed hand to skin.
An all encompassing warmth is felt,
To cause a breathless sigh that melts
The doubting fear within.

Feeling soon becomes a hold,
So safe in arms embracing.
Bodies close from lips to feet,
Hearts synchronising beat to beat
Each breath the next one chasing.

The drawing in where two are one,
A depth of touch so deep.
This world around is long forgot,
And time itself is charged to stop
At point of sweet release.

The final touch is felt the most,
And lasts when all has faded.
Mind to mind and soul to soul,
The person felt as precious whole,
Without which touch is jaded.


7 Responses to Touch

  1. First thing in the morning? No idea where it came from? Think you’re fibbing. πŸ˜‰

  2. What a dissy! Sure sounded like it. Steward’s enquiry. πŸ™‚

  3. Pingback: I need sex | scottishmomus

  4. prospermind says:

    Touching. πŸ˜‰

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