A supple touch of no physical means
wakes me up from slumber, as it were.
Wicked conceits and fantastic imaginations
abound around the gregarious feeling
as incorporeal fingers grace my thoughts

What hands but my own heart's
tender rhythmic petting could do this?
What sturdy firm and gripping thoughts
muster up the long lonely nerves?

Straddling the omens of chills up my spine
as invisible fingers tickle my neck.
Wicked little hairs stand on end from tail bone
to skull.

To heed myself the moment
the very instance of creasing smile..
To heed the inspiration as it comes
is like God has come back to my meager life.