Bruises and Goosebumps

We nourish each other by simple
touches over safe intimate precise
locations. The crease of a hip
is the folding spine of a pop-up book
the curve of a shoulder as a
pillow propped on the couch long
enough to fit the both of us, a hand
tucked into the back right pocket
a reassurance of proclivity.

     Touch becomes
dependence the type to feed from to
create or sustain life it begins
from first contact, present
for every revolving intimacy
and roulette of meaning. It's all
connectivity what keeps us alove
for worse or better.

At points like grinding gears
   touch needs lubrication: beads
   of sweat, strands of viscous honey
   streaks of baby oil. Stubble
   can be sandpaper. Calloused fingers
   and jagged finger or toenails
   create puncture wounds on
   existing imperfections that
   creams or lotions
   never seem to remove. Even
   at such a price we crave it
   a physical connection to another
   regardless of implication.

7.10.14