I kiss you as if to confirm you are here. With me. Not going anywhere.


To confirm your presence.


I kiss you as I kiss your hands, as I rub your hands, massaging them to make sure they are real. In disbelief, perhaps that it is your hand in mine and that I have the pleasure of holding it.


I run my fingers down your back, soft, your arms, sturdy. I clutch a wiry coil of hair, yours, in my fist.


I smooth your face. I kiss your face.


It is soft. It is safe. It is kind. It is right.

whatever i touch
turns into tragedy—
Midas wishes his hands
were made of mine.

i dare not touch
trees and their leaves—
their old age
will not matter
once i graze their skin.

i do wonder
if everything good
that comes are worthy
of my ruin—
they quickly turn
sour and ugly
once they,
finally,
rest their heads
on my lap
and i am left here,
once again,
picking up the scraps,
telling myself
nothing incredibly,
or inherently, bad
has happened yet.

but what if it comes?

what if the world
decides to put
the blame on me
and punish me
for simply being alive?

should i keep
crawling back
to life?

or should i
accept the fate
i have been given?

Sweet and supple golden nectar
Caress my lips, gentle as a kiss.
There is no step that I would not venture;
Nor no succulent sip that I would miss.
A touch of lips
In a state of bliss,
Unable to resist.
Closely rhymed with a kiss; and the tongue in between makes a hiss.
The world around is set ablaze
Stuck together in this sweltering maze.
To wish upon the stars to stay a little longer
And hope for the moon to hold in a little more fonder.
~RitzWrites 🍁

He opened his eyes well after he woke,
not wanting his touch to be proved a lie.

So he lay still, hiding his fears behind
the pink morning glow though eye lids,
holding his excitement under her breath.

And then she moved her hand
from his arm to his cheek
and she whispered, ‘I’m still here,’

and his joy bubbled up into a grin
as his eyes gave proof to touch and sound.

Please come with your Skin

to my Body, the Temple --


of the Sacred Touch.

You had me
feeling like gold
and I had no gravity

The long way back
to my skin's old threshold
limits, replacing the alarm
with a notification
without crisis consultation

and more
than the sensation
of smells and tastes
and more
than the satisfaction
of strength and fatigue

and more
than laughing muscles to feel
there is contact
in between thinking
Placing a lot at a distance
to have space close by

to be balanced
and to love myself
to accept touches
uninhibited, not creeping
like the scent of wisteria