There is a lot I can no longer
do spontaneously
I touch myself with caution
and rather let you look

than act, but sometimes
the tingling of your
caress arouses unfulfillable needs
deeper and deeper in me

They are sleeping
in my cells, still
desiring to jump you
but your hands ward me off

as a precaution, so sensitive
are our skin and our bones
so painful it can be
to wish to be young