I hate being touched.

I’m not sure if it’s the invasion of my personal space or the uncomfortable way my nerves react to the pressure of foreign skin against me.  Maybe it’s the germs that could be crawling in their aura or the feeling of their breath, unwanted, against my neck.  It might even just be their warmth, their radiating heat infecting my pours, staining my flesh and I sweat out of nervousness wanting to escape their embrace and flee to some sea to wash myself clean.

Yet…

I want to be completely consumed by you.  I want you to explore every inch of my body.  I want to be enveloped in your essence, shrouded in your scent.  I don’t ever want to forget the feeling of your touch, the weight of your form or the texture of your hands as they wander from tender peaks to celestial caverns.  I want to drown in every sensation, savor every kiss, melt into your arms and absorb the memories forever.

I hate to be touched, but I abhor having yet felt yours.

Tagged:  prose,   words,  
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