Touch

 

 

The first touch was bitter,

tantamount to an attack, deception

from a vantage point

of spiritual superiority.

 

The second touch

was touching a tomb, still full of stench

though the flesh had rotted long ago –

just dry bones, barely

a full form.

 

The third touch

angered, like when a snake

snatches a fledgling, angry

at the innate brutality all around.

 

The fourth touch

was perfect, a release

from the swing-seat of darkness,

a blessed gift that came

at the first touch –

consciously cruel, compliant

to the sway of a lesser self.

 

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Copyright © by Allison Grayhurst 2025

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Setu” January 2026 (December issue – Author of the Month)

https://www.setumag.com/2025/12/Lit-Art-Culture-Journal.html

https://www.setumag.com/2025/12/poetry-allison-grayhurst.html