Heavy Life: A Riddle

A Riddle

Without, 'tis a thing of the body.
Only physical touch, nothing more.
Not a moment of depth o'er six inches.
Without, either one could be whore.

With, 'tis a ritual of meaning.
Every bite, every scratch, a keepsake.
Just the memory of touch is a blessing.
With, all is Light - 'til It breaks.



[Only two clicks to vote. If I touched you, please touch me too.]