The colors of the flower touched my eyes
like the warmth of summer air touched my skin.  
Like tenderness of your kiss touched my heart,
space between sense and feeling is so thin.

We’ve grown accustomed to this sacred space,
where we don’t notice the weight of the air.
Still, it touches every inch of our self,
a touch so light we act like it’s not there.

The physicality of our senses
is defined by near invisible touch,
of the lights, the colors and fragrances,
they touch like you, but not nearly so much.

A fluttering feather would crush mountains—
no touch is lighter than your fingertips.
Yet no sensation ever had more depth,
than the weightlessness of kissing your lips.