We circle around each other

longing to be held, naked

and alone afraid of one another.

We played ring around the rosy

when we still knew how to play.

We tickled each other, incapable

of laughing tickling oneself.

Unable to hear what your body is saying,

tone deaf to the yelp and caterwaul

beneath your skin, you have to be touched

to decipher messages from your body

to your head.

When you're weeping on the boulevard of pain

hanging by your thumbs, you must be touched

to be set free, smothered with kisses

dissolving your misery.

Touch and be touched, that's all there is to love.

Before your veins grow cold the art of touching

is all you need to know.