Touch

She had the coldest  
eyes, I'd always hoped  
the flare of a mighty sun  
might set fire to her  
oceanic blues.  
And her touch...? No  
quarrel be that so great,  
than a man in iron skin,  
melted by the fragile  
flesh of another.  
 
He had the palest  
dreams, encircling a  
star neither warm nor  
fervent. His thoughts are  
a lake with too many stones  
cast within. Fires shivered  
offshore, beacons to his lonely  
vessel, though the pangs for  
her fingertips against his  
faint skin burned ever  
brighter.  
 
 
 
A collaboration with my truly talented girlfriend, Diana. Her stanza is the first, mine is the second.