Subtle touches of spirit and body
both received and given graciously
excite an unknown itch for me to ignore
What else, I reason, are emotions for?
I don't pretend to see nothing for no purpose
Rather, to ignore the reality of it's existence
because I think in all possibilities there is a void to fill
It must be platonic, without touch and only words

I relish being alone and separate and quiet
without even the company of few
From my position, I see clearly, that is not you
You edit your gaze and attentions in my presence
where I could be constantly, if I wished
At every glance, hidden or sly, I notice
and I shrink further inside myself each time

To what end are the gestures applied to my psyche
as, certainly it must be obvious you must facilitate growth
in me, as I halt my growth at command
I do, I must because I can control it
If not myself, then anyone I meet is victim
to the matherings and manipulations of mind
I propose and then set in stone
You musn't be aware