This fierce music bursting
from my fingers
is more audible than "touch" connotes,
it fills
each cathedral of your breasts,
aura spreads - from the outside in -
hands become
the habitat of higher gods.
There, even in your eyes,
this tactile light permeates
with radiance beyond
the point of origin.
Touch leaves itself
even in your breath:
it gets caught,
it quickens,
it aspires with acclaim.
Touch, love, embrace.
Mere words -
drones to lug fixed meanings.
This "passion" -
more than passion:
this sensation of a breath
diffusing warmth
below an ear;
this thumping song
of togertherness;
these toes that curl
beyond sublime.
Words all have lives
too big to inhabit names,
in definition is imperfect sense...
...like "absent",
and the agile silence
that pins my empty
body
to an unseen world,
no matter how
I writhe
and fight in turn.


Take care, keep safe, and stay beautiful,


Amor y Paz,


Jé


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