Touch

“Touch” is based off of a poem I wrote while exploring the intricacies of romantic and sexual intimacy.

I like the idea that touch is waterlike. Both touch and water aren’t permanent but even their absences have a presence, juxtaposing itself by existing with both fragility and solidity. After water I am left wet. And after touch, I am still left with touch. Like the first chill of the wind on my wet skin, after releasing myself from a cool cocoon of water, letting go of your touch is a sensation on its own. I am now different.
Touch is a vessel of love. In this way I imagine some to be strong currents. The kind where if you stand exactly at the right spot, it will sweep you into itself. Your arms swell over me. I think these are smooth waters, so I indulge. I like how the cold sting begins to settle into an embrace, almost consuming me. I think about drowning. How hard will the tide hit me? How deep can I go before I lose my ground? If I sink any more will I be submerged?
Sometimes I worship those I hope can save me, thinking I have something inside of me that needs cleansing and hoping it is their touch that can purify me. In that way, touch is unlike water.
The baptization I seek does not come just from the water, as much as the love I seek does not come just from the touch.