Touch
A heightening of senses

Touch
Bristling beneath it

Horripilation
Sweeping up bodies -

From the Latin, horrere pilus,
"to bristle" + "hair" -

The most delicious
Can be the most poisonous

Exploding with each
Touch

Anticipation erupts
Touch

At the very thought
Of such delicious fruit

Touch

We are like a car the owner can scarcely afford to keep.
America is a loud muffler sputtering,
Wired-up that was cheaply maintained.
Problem is there's a gaping big hole in it.
No patch can fix it.  
Yet, we sputter on.

(A little ditty for the friend which we all have.)
Je t'aime,
Yet again!
No, no, no
This time it's real
She says,
Yet again!

Misses Pifflewhiff was a strange old gal;
She was away with the butterflies
Most of the time.

(I know what you are thinking.)

No, she never went with the fairies.
No fairies for her.  She preferred butterflies.
And on their wings, the old gal would fly;

In her imaginative way of thinking.

Blindingly bright lights pin-point;
And then you touch.

Experiencing love for the 1st time;
Throbbing heart constricting.
A lump in the throat
Caught in a dry strangle, one gasp,
Lightheaded.  Breathe!  
Thick, dense air.
Full sensory at capacity;

And you touch, again.
Then we fall and fall and fall.

My days had gone by more quickly than a weaver’s shuttle,
And they came to an end without hope.
     - Until I looked back at the tapestry that had been woven.

(Throat-clear)
Um, me-me-me-me
Take that face off
Put it in the drawer
Tucker, you ain't gonna
Need it no more
They done booted you ****
Out the door,
La-tra-la-la-la