A Poem For the Ticklers


Should I Decide


Five senses technically

A common physicality.

Distant sight and sound

Wave never mind themselves for now,

Faintest scent and mildest taste

Remember anyhow, until

A touch so intimate

Can make all time and space, stand, still.

So the intimate will.


Only after my teacher’s words had touched me,

Did I love, love to write.

At once the masterpieces shook me, 

The piano taught my hands to play.

What tastes and fragrances seduced and nourished

Every nerve, but not

Before I learned to feel 

Their intimacy deserved.


These senses chime your beauty’s

No common physicality,

I want to know your beauty now

From underneath their hands.

Here, your intricacies rival poetry or piano-

How the color of your lips will 

Pair the taste of your skin,

The depth of your sighs

As I caress your back and feet,

The tone of your laughter

Should I tickle you instead-

Vengeful and defiant,

Or a touch of pure joy,

So the intimate will now remains to be said.


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