“Just beneath touching,
under the layer contact,
there’s a yearning.
To touch my skin might not be enough.
I want the tracks of my brain run by fingers
and my veins followed intently.
To see my smile might not do.
I want the reason why found by searching
and my teeth counted meticulously.
To hear my cry might not be enough.
I want the shaking of my bones felt
and my nerve-endings counted.
Jut beneath touching,
under the layer of contact,
there’s a yearning.”
A.V.