“anesthesia” a poem

If it’s one thing I miss–
often longed for and desired–
it’s the sense of touch
last felt when last time expired.
 
My arms kept her safe, comforted
at a time when we were significant others.
The sense of touch comforted us–
she was happy, as was I when I was with her.
 
So often neglected, I wish I felt more,
not mentally, or emotionally,
but that sense of touch,
I miss feeling that feeling physically.
 
And it is that feeling that drives me
further from into the storm,
rushing to the sense of touch,
naked skin, soft and warm.
 
I don’t like this anesthesia.
I swear I was forced to succumb.
The sense of touch is missing
and I loathe this feeling of numb
 
I’m grateful for smells, sights and sounds
and I enjoy tastes since date of birth.
But when will the sense of touch
return to all that I remember it being worth?
 
It’s been so long since I last felt
that I fear I feel I would recoil in fear.
That connection, the sense of touch,
would need to be gentle, sweet, sincere.
 
I’m grateful for close companions
sharing laughs and secrets untold.
But it’s not quite like the sense of touch,
having someone close enough to hold.
 
There’s a clear line between love and lust
and I don’t have a problem with either.
Love can enhance the sense of touch,
but this time around I have neither.