fingertips on back
tracks following the prints
of kisses planted neatly
offering silent hints
breathing in the scent
of our raw human perfume
which cannot be replicated (or bottled)
beyond the walls of our room
longing to brush the soul
if even ever-slightly
i beg for embrace
but connection once like mail
is now broken
closest comparison being the unity of pads of feet
the soles touch physically when souls cannot