Does a touch with his fingers and
hands demand the same response
in which he touches the inner workings
as his pen does when it lands

Speaking to the psyche merging
then migrating to the body
until exposed willing to stand in it
while it penetrates skin as if slathering silk
lanolin

There is no substitute for that feeling
anticipating his mouth opening
Submitting to his whispers
A weeping willow those become leaning
to his provocative breezes and bellowing tears
of joy that the entertainment has begun

Wanting to applaud discovering strength is
absent
Shuddering to stanza butterfly kisses to
the belly reduced to congealed substance consumed by his
compositions

O touch and attend to the intellect with
your secrets and tender admissions
He has complete attention while letters are melting
between honey-ed sighs inciting delicate
cries and jubilation until rising in a
culmination of euphoria

Leaving with subtly after the earth
quake hushes and there is fulfilled subsiding
Peace has renewed
Until he casts the next spell
we are left craving

O touch