A Poem of Longing: A Greater Sense of Your Touch

 

If only I could be…

the impression
of your watch
left on your flesh

or the fire of the match
you strike out of necessity
or pleasure

or just one of your slippers
that warms you
in the morning

or any one of the lingering stubs,
albeit stubborn,
left anywhere from your shave

do I ask for too much
in longing to feel all senses
of your touch?