a kiss, a touch, a graze, the wind
sets fire raging across my skin.
not the fire of passion’s grace
but the fire of a ravaged face.

nerves read fingers and knives alike
and interpret love with increasing spikes
of headaches, throbbing, and sharp rebukes
a razor’s dance of bio nukes.

The act of love becomes a maze
paths drawn anew with the latest phase.
he never knows which nerves will measure
the touch of pain or the touch of pleasure.

mmorehead 2020