touch

where are all the ways
you touched me,
ten fingers
and then
none.

i'm counting
some but they
don't count,
each digit fell
and ghastly,
this one see
-through, that one
amorphous
and don't get
me started on
 the other.

it is not a
"psychic touch,"
rather some
strange duster
set out to
loosen the score,
reckon the storm,
and so on.

i compete you,
sweetly.

so,

i complete you,
holy.

MEAN!

i deplete you,
wholly moly!

meanwhile,

i retreat to
rolypoly.

heavens, i repeat to
eckhart tolle,
nevermind, i am present
that's a folly,
never, i am better
oh, sweet Molly!

yes and, Leopold!
and, fuck me!
and, good night!