Tekster: Cold Wet Candy. Other. Vision 1.

A hand,
reaching out in total darkness.
Touching soft, smooth skin.
Fingers absent of stress,
small, thin, but lively and warm.
Palm the faintest damp;
slender arms,
lacking erosion or scars,
A child's shoulders,
having borne no weight upon upon them.
Neck, sensual and curving,
cool to the touch,
but life pulses here,
subtle difference between
beauty and horror.

The human head.
A wondrous creation,
whether God or Darwin is to thank.
Chin curves to lips,
full & quivering with even the softest touch.
One cheek carries a brand,
history's mark on a perfect face
to tell the tale of a
plot gone awry.
Hands travel to ears, small,
petite, stone embedded in each.
Moving now to a nose,
drawn along its curvaceous body,
heat from nostrils caressing fingers
as they continue moving upwards.

Eyes.
Simple rods and cones creating such a
complex world.
Now touching soft streams of
slightly tangled hair,
its imperfections even more enticing
than the greatest Greek statues.
Each individual strand lives on its own.
Removing my tools of vision,
I place them gently in my lap.
She takes my hands,
holds them in hers,
and whispers in my ear:
"Now you've seen me."