The touch, it makes me weak it makes me strong
makes me feel that I belong
when I reach
and become enthroned under your arm
I belong

to the skin and not the deceitful lies
to the nature that is mine
those evil ugly spies
that despise
my internal
eternal
purity

there's a body pressing inside of me
holding me
from wriggling free
and when my guilelessness breaks from it's digging piano wires
and I lay
my desire to be touched
on your skin

theres a small opportunity
though
I'm mute
each tear length finger tenderly on the edge of your consciousness
touching like pen to paper
of my inner fears, hopes, disposure
and even so gingerly
I know
I know you feel me
and its depth
it's radiating heat
before I come

I'm a child with my cheeks pressed to a screen door
I move as though my body should ******* like dried mud
as though my yoke is exposed

but surprisingly
I've the hunch to know
that you feel my heaviness
to know the weightlessness I feel
in my soul
you reach with your minds eye around its negative space
and feel its sorrow
though it needn't be real any longer
because the lies are fake
you move like a ghost in my soul
through the layers of my existence
until you reach my blinding light
that smiles with blinding stars
and cries with pools of joy in every corner of my face
in spite of the darkness that tries to influence us
influence as it may, to block me
I know you see me
because it permits me to breathe
loosen the strings of this
of the injuries
of this mask
of what it has taught me
digging raw behind my ears
through the experiences
that cant do more than to try to contain me
the person, the essence, I adore above all else

When this cast is cracked
my lithe body
my bones tumble out
like a newborn animal
exhausted
into a tender pool, locked lovingly around your body
with your will
and its silent attentions
I'm safe to empty
to heave the waters of my deepest
perpetuating well
with agonizing throbs of pain in my arms
to feel the weight
live the weight
to finally know it's release
If I desired, or I so choose
I could flood the very color from my eyes
I can do this very thing
You must know the feeling
behind my face
when I lunge the gallons from my linen canvass
Thank you
for this safe place from the world and its composing times, overseen by your perceptive silence and compassionate lovely gaze