Touch


Touching is the closure of distance, a wondering exploration of that which can never fully be known. At the same time an opening, a window of the senses thrown ajar, a new world of scent, texture, and taste flooding inward to the heart. An aperture, a fixture of differences attempting to reconcile, a shore and a sea and the tugging of the moon. To touch you teaches me about myself. I learn what I want, what I like, what I fear, where I am strong. The crenallation of our edges, the edge harmonics of our desire. What is tomorrow when there is tonight? You are the moon catching the light of las estrellas, I am a cloud formed of thousands of tadpoles of sea, this is a hymn and a realization that there is nothing yet of these swirling emotions that I can put into something so concrete and sudden as words. To speak of the deepness of what one fleetingly feels is scary. It is scary, yet when you finally say them, they are true, you know they are true, almost unnecessary, but necessary for reaffirmation, to know that the heart shimmering underneath the touch is there mirrored, two hands reaching out from unfathomable distances of night to touch and pass wonder. Wonder, and wonder, and frightening joy.

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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