Until you touch me
I am not me to you.
If you never
slide your fingers
along my thigh,
I will never move it
to allow you in.
Unless you brush
my nipple
with the knuckle
of your right hand,
you can never know
whether it will seize
the moment of contact.
The gaze that stills
your reach and touch,
defers the real,
and keeps you
safe from me.
You are right
to hesitate:
my flesh
eats everything
it touches.
(Upon reading the second chapter of
Resisting Nudities
by Florence Dee Boodakian.
2008, Peter Lang Publishing, New York)