I can’t recall a single time
I’ve felt the human touch
And didn’t sense the paradigm
That I don’t like it much.

It seems as though I haven’t learnt
That touching’s something good.
Instead, I feel I’m being burnt
As if I’m made of wood.

And yet you could have held my hand
Without the slightest qualm;
By which I hope you understand
You bring me peace and calm.

Our holding hands won’t happen, though,
And so I simply let it go.

Photo by Sebastian Dumitru on Unsplash

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