beating like, a mad man drummer.
touching me, yet not my lover.
startling, static energy.
speaking, truths not forgery.
joining too, embodied with you.
As children, my sister and I would lie on the bed and take turns closing our eyes while the other, starting from the wrist, tickled up your arm using the fairest touch done in tiny-roaming circles. If the squirming soul with their eyes closed correctly guessed when the other reached the inside crease at the elbow—they got to be tickled again—if not, which was usually the case, places were switched. Have fun trying it. J