NaPoWriMo: Day 15- Exile

The simple thought of touch
whispering little caresses, or hugs or
a hand on an arm, a hand on, well
hands explore, it's what they do
so sure, it was enough, yes siree,
it always was more than enough.

That simple thought of touch
made the bile surge right up
until it burst into her mouth, thin and hot, and
went back down like a shot of that stuff
that red stuff she liked to put on her eggs
for that quick spice, that eye watering kick
and while she liked adventure
when it related to eggs
she wasn't very certain about
wandering little fingers.

It used to be the thought
of touch, that old bastard
that crumpled her innards
and smashed - what? Her self regard?
did it matter? But someone said it did-
and she sat in a pick-up on a hot summer
evening while a good old boy explored.

His hand was firm, masculine, dead set
on its destination, but willing
oh yes, he sure is a pro!
willing to take it niiiiice and easy
because, face it honey, it'll be a touchdown
he's real good and you're a little stupid
in this summer heat.

So she braced herself and trained
herself to handle touch
Deal with it! It's natural
it is natural, right? Boys touch girls
and it's natural, and even mama
quoted the good book
men have women, it's the way
so she trained herself to like the idea
but it still summoned bile.

And in a hot car on a hot summer a hot hand
slid down and under her skirt
Oh god my mama bought this skirt
My mommy bought this skirt
so she punched him
then sat in his car
and cried
and he let her cry on his shoulder
hot car hot face hot wet face hot hand
He wasn't even a bad young man
but she didn't talk to him again.

Everyone always asked
"Honey, what's your story?
somebody hurt you or something?
must be that, must be real bad-"
but it wasn't that, it was simple
it never felt right, though she was told
what she had confessed she wanted
was very, very wrong.

One morning she rolled over
watched her pretty bedmate sleep
thought, hey, touch isn't so bad
watched the breath
flutter some hair, fuzzy hair
look, the sheets are just so,
placed as for some small
accident of cosmic modesty
with the chain of the cross showing
mama was wrong about heaven, I think
because I've never felt it before
not in a hot car never-
I do now.

A thigh showed and the stomach bare
was a playground for window shadows
rippling and dancing on the skin
the skin she liked to touch
and then eyes fluttered open
Hello good morning love you
was said and said again
They always talked in the morning.