i cannot touch the world skin to skin
i am not built to withstand such intimacy
the violent burn of it takes my breath and makes my hands shake

and yet, I am touch starved
hungry for skin privileges

so instead I touch by proxy
I dress my love and care in pragmatic gestures
I reach inside and pick out the raw elements of who I am
and pin them to the page with words

I hand the world rows of text and hope someone will notice me between the lines

And then I run back to the shadows and hide
because that is me there
naked and exposed
and my hands shake
because real intimacy must reciprocate
and I have no language for it.