A sense, a thought, perhaps unknown, but true.
Surrounded as we are by messages of joy,
Of pleasure, fear, and pain,
Heartfelt, and hand-felt, both skin and soul.
And though our eyes may soon betray,
Our faithful fingers unaffected still remain.
What winter brings we shiver from,
And sweat soaks through with summer’s sun
The joy of fireplace or picnic in their turn
While in this season, it’s for the other that we yearn.
Dancing hand to hand in cocoons of warmth
Moist breath embracing cheek or neck
What passions thus might rise or fall
As feet and bodies move to rhythms at their will.
A soft brush of hair against the skin
Sensations grow from an outward touch
At surface sensed and pulled within
We like knights of ancient lore
With fragments in their lockets wore.
These talismans could shift the game.
Such things believed, such things we feel
Do all our senses seem so real
Although we speak of losing touch
What was it let that flower fade?
Was time alone the cause?