For what reason do I bare these arms
if their flick does not fluster
and their embrace does not ease

For what reason do I glance with these eyes
if their concern does not comfort
and their ghost does not give

For what reason do I speak from these lips
if their sweetness does not soften
and their cool does not calm

If my touch leaves no fingerprints
when I press skin to the world
then what is the purpose of my effort?

Or perhaps I do leave marks
a stinging slap
a gouging gaze
a ravenous rip

Then my resolve is of hellish terms
and I am consumed by demons