Sometimes. Touching you feels like stars exploding underneath my skin And yet, at times Its like being pressed down with vines and vines and vines of interlaced thorns and barbs and knife ends. Touching you, I've learnt - is an art. An art I'm realising I lack the talent for. Touching you, In me evokes a myriad of things Things of love things of lust things of longing and things of trust And yet, Touching you also cements in me Thoughts of distance thoughts of loss thoughts of rejection and thoughts of despair So I sit there In-between the pendulum of my being Hoping wishing needing to stop This constant oscillation between Want and distrust Need and ambiguity Meaning and deadends. - M.A.