Where your eyes view comfort, my eyes shy away in fear. Those fingertips you wish to lace with yours, as you lay dreaming on your aged duvet, are the embodiment of an age-old prison. Those fingers lacing mine like thick nylon rope laced through fingertips and wrists. Soft voice infused with poison constricting my body with the force of two angered hands closing around my neck. Harsh lips like fists against malleable skin, leaving ***** stains and marks of possession on a once-white canvas that has marred itself beyond recognition. Insincere words spilling from vacant hearts, swearing of a beauty neither can see, yet you consume the words like a holy salvation. What little comfort lies in a body created for the very intention of torture.

Come with me and seek comfort and love from the fabric from which we were created. The comfort of a universe that lies on your very fingertips. The particles in the center of my right thumb created in a deceased star whose light is just now visible to my eager eye, the atoms vibrating on my stark white scalp arriving on my body after travelling farther in the universe than any human eye has witnessed, the pounding molecules rushing through every inch of my body as a thick red liquid originating in the center of the universe (an unimaginably breath-taking home). These particles have touched surfaces the human mind has yet to dream of touching, yet they have chosen this surface- your body- to faithfully support before resuming their flurry of activity. A deeper love than that that can be provided by an insufficient human body.