Touch.. Me

There is a hesitation .. when I reach for anyone. When that moment hovers in the air and I push through it to lay my hands on flesh. Sometimes .. there is a disappointment that leaves me without emotion .. apathetic to the pleasure. At times there is relief .. for the feeling is normal .. expected. A simple garden stroll. Sometimes there is a distaste .. a shock of bile that rises in my throat and I must turn away .. retching the sour horror .. spitting it from my mouth. The internal strife like a rot that coats and takes forever to wash from me. Scrubbing until my skin is raw and bloody for the desperation to be clean once more.

You finally took things into your own hands .. and touched me. Fear clutched at my chest as breath froze within my lungs and I waited for the repulsive poison to leach into my skin and thread its way through my veins. Distracted for a moment by the audacity of your choice .. the cheeky flavor of your action. Distracted enough that I did not pull away .. but dared you to infect me .. ready for the gut clenching regurgitation to follow.

Instead .. at first I felt nothing at all .. the cut was swift and sure. Sharp enough that I relaxed just in time to get the full impact of the rush. Where breath had been frozen .. it now expanded and fed my brain with pure oxygen. Where apathy slowed the flow of blood .. it now rushed like shards of ice through every tiny capillary and I thought sure I would bleed to death as every sensory cell was filleted and opened to the stimulus of your touch.

Endorphins rushed to my aid .. convinced they were needed for my very survival .. but I brushed them away. No masochist I .. but this was something I needed to examine .. I needed to feel. I needed to allow whatever was happening to me because I wanted more than anything else to understand.

How could I have not seen it before? Why did I wait so long? Where you really there all this time just waiting for my acceptance .. or have I remade you to fit my need .. my denial that I could have been alone so long. Better to believe I have always had this nightingale? Or better to believe that I could not have known for she has only now stepped within my view?

Will the effect fade? Will I grow tired of the sensation? Will you fade in my growing expectation? Or will you remain as intense and stimulating as you are to me now? Treading my tolerance beneath your tiny wings as you climb ever higher on the drafts of my desire?

©2009 Written in Recognition of .. Beauty