To touch this fragile skin
explosive kinesthesia: the scent of lilacs, sound of whispers, image of ricewater, taste of sweetest milk
to touch this skin
I reach but then retract my hand
She knows me but does not know me, does not know she ensnares my soul when her hair brushes past my hand,
does not know that her voice ignites desires of which I dare not speak
of this fragile skin
at night I sleep within memories of her touch as within feathers, a cradle, a womb
I dream that I touch her and she touches me
and our hands, our lips, pass through, pass within each other, become each other, embrace each other's heart,
each other's deepest breath
to touch this
before the moment passes, before the sweet skin coarsens, ages, becomes a time-scarred carapace
like mine
like the hard-eyed women who dare not smile on the street
like the slackening hair-cursed heaviness we are damned with for the rest of our darkened lives
lightened only by the glimpse of forgotten promise
by the blessing of an unchanged other
by the ignition of desire to watch, to listen, to inhale, to taste
to touch this fragile skin