all showered and shaved,
gussied and primped,
with no one to touch
hence a lonely night spent
tapping away on plastic keys
to people near and far over seas,
who mimic my movements
directly through the screen
typing away, writing obscene
poetry and fiction
with articulate diction
of tales of titillating touches
by our celebrity crushes,
for our realistic lives
are in a lasting drought,
therefore fervent encounters are without
but the passion that burns
lies in our lust-less yearn
to be held, touched, and stimulated,
sensually caressed and dominated
depictions of kink send sparks
to particularly my lady parts
and the desire for one's touch
becomes almost too much,
so I channel these feelings
that leave my nerves reeling,
and loneliness settles in
before I can even begin
to describe the touch
of which I cannot feel
and wish the instances
I fabricate with words
could only be real