Mmm, This Poem Sure Tastes Good

Once again, because I haven't planned ahead, and cant stay up late enough or get up early enough, I'm at work without access to my poetry files. Thus, I'm canibalizing a poem from my Blood Blog.
This week's poem is fairly recent--written within the last four months. Stop me if you've heard this one before.


Canibalistically,

Cindy



The Ministry of Touch

Something survived the ravening.
A found bit of tenderness, overlooked

by scavengers, unmarred by
years of plunder.

I’d like you to have it.
Let me press it into

your palm, your lips, into
the well of your throat.

Take it; you’ll owe me nothing.
It is a gift, this touch. There will

be no conditions, no bartering,
no marking in a ledger. Enjoy

this treasure, let it soften
over your skin. Yield to its

warmth; there is safety here.
And here, your ecstasy is welcome

and a treasure unto itself. Behold
this small scrap of affection, a forgotten

morsel of caring: it is still supple
and certain to increase in the heart

of one who generously receives.
How extraordinary; how rare indeed

that any of us should be
so utterly cherished.