The Touch (Poetry)

It is that supreme moment of anticipation
when all the tiny near-invisible hairs along
the curve of the shoulder — nape of neck
and ranging down the casually undulating slope
                                of spine
stand rigid to attention — beg like dogs
eager to be petted — mesmerized
by the hand that hovers close
with its radiating heat promising
a simple brand of ecstasy.

Expectation changes the skin and warms
the narrow channel of air awash between —
breath caught in an excited come-on gasp
senses primed and bliss all set to go —
soak up that damburst pleasure as it spreads
everywhere — the tingle travelling toe
to dizzy head — a pre-echo of the most
tenderest of touches — so deliriously sweet
the impatient body arches keen
to meet with its caress — pleads
and sighs through every tiny aching pore.