Touch

 There are nights

a special kind of lonely hits

almost a melancholy.

nothing short of the touch 

of another living thing can cure.

this thing will grow much

that even a tree or the grass can

ease the ache a little

or sometimes it’s washed away by dreams

when the dreams are the type

that surely you’ve touched another mind or heart

left unchecked the soul throbs in need

and the body reacts

laying in water or staring at the stars,

the vibrating core of ones existence 

tunes finally with everything 

so desperate the need for something 

Receptive to everything