Touch is always a reciprocal transaction. Both our hands feel the electricity surge when the initial contact occurs. From there, our senses merge, and it’s impossible to tell where I end and you begin.

Touch me.
...
Or am I touching you?

I’ll tell you a secret if you come in real close and promise to keep it when you need it the most.
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(You’re beautiful even as your tears stain your pillow. The world is just happy you’re alive. We are falling in love with your every infinity, and we’re hoping you stay for awhile. We love you, we need you, we’re so proud of your fight. Stars can only twinkle when they’re placed in the night.)
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Now put this in your pocket and hold it real close. Save it for when you need it the most.

Write our story in cursive so we can connect ourselves through time.

Questions without answers demand the most time.
Trying to find what we never can find -  
The meaning of life,
Where we go when we die,
The reason I’m alive,
Why I struggle to survive.

To get all the answers, we just have to die.

Poetry courses through my veins, but it only escapes when I make myself bleed.