A TOUCH TOUCHED


The wind is growing the snow is showing.

I want to go mind blowing

Robinson Crusoeing

On deserted isles.

I want to walk the days into miles

I want to put the years into piles

That can be all washed away by the great oceans sway

And the rocking swirls of the dancing girls,

That appear from the air without so much as a care.

Then I shall lay in lagoons

Swim in water filled rooms

Warmed by the fires of internal desires.

And then I shall wake

Again I shall ache

For the touch.

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