This is where reality slips—

At the touch of your fingertips.

So simple, so ethereal,

Have we even touched at all?

I can feel your fingerprints

Pretty patterns drop subtle hints

That you are more intricate,

Strengthened by everything delicate,

And closely holding reality

The way I wish you would hold me.


Where is the beat that my heart skips,

At the touch of your fingertips?

Shivering with a pleasurable chill,

As soon as we touch I’ve had my fill,

And yet I cannot get enough

Of this quivering butterfly stuff

That seems to make up your essence

And keeps me in perpetual suspense.

When will it start, when will it stop?

My stomach sinks; my insides drop.


I’m caught in your eyes’ and fingers’ grips,

At the touch of your fingertips.

You and I barely touch,

Already it feels like too much.

Such an overwhelming sensation

Sends my heart into hyperventilation.

Can you can tell by how I freeze?

You delight me with such ease!

My weak hold on reality slips,

At the touch of your fingertips.

1 Comment
  1. Avatar of Andrew J. Sacks
    Andrew J. Sacks says

    Fine work, RG. Thank you.

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