Oh, but that desire for touch.

So many times it is just too much…

Stirring that sensation with only your words.

Empty, physical words.

Here I wait, longing for that stone throw at my window.

Knock on my door.

Kisses never had.

Why am I still longing?

Sleep, desire! Go to the grave!

Lay dormant again, please! You were not meant to wake.

By one that wants only pieces.

Pieces void of soul.

I have a physical stronghold.

Protected.

And I cry from behind its walls.

Tears of thankfulness; tears of joy; tears of unfulfillment…

And that desire for touch?

Wisdom says even a little,

would simply be too much.

Why does this world short change real connection with only touch?