i have been told that i have soft hair

"won't you touch it," i prompt

my intention laid bare:

won't you touch me, i mean

so i can imagine you there

fingers lightly combing through

my heart, sending off flares

a thought turned to a spark

my soul, closed for repair.

i have been told that i have soft hands

"won't you feel them," i suggest

provide supply for my demand

won't you feel me, i mean

a gesture too large to ask

your ghost held me in my sleep

and i prayed the dream would last

i can almost remember your shape

like the wick remembers the match.

i have been told that i have soft lips

"won't you kiss them," i wonder

with arms laid heavy on my hips

won't you kiss me, i mean

any and everywhere you wish

and you would hold it all

my love, deeper than a ditch

for i have known you in a past life

but i can't remember which.