“Never leave someone who touches your soul more than your body.” ~ Unknown

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Do you feel me?

Not the voices and words that echo for the world to follow—but my soul; the inner calling of my compass that, at times, bounces around lost within the chaos of my own mind.

The wonderment of childlike eyes and hands that sculpt the universe from the dirty what ifs of fallen dreams.

The me that I hide from the rest of the world, between my beating heart and the walls of fears that crisscross my soul like ribbons of clouds on an otherwise flawless day.

Do you feel my heart?

This bleeding masterpiece of lessons learned and hope that still flourishes like the buds after a spring snow; the beauty within a storm.

Broken, bruised, and used; tossed aside and never seen.

Underappreciated and carelessly loved in moderation—and through the illusion of control.

This heart that rises, pulses with the knowledge of a love never found.

Do you feel my mind?

These thoughts that wind themselves around the possibilities of those I plant seeds of inspiration in.

This meandering litany of love, and pain so pure it brings tears to my eyes because sometimes it is the broken that shines the most beautifully.

Tantalizing and deep longing for someone who cares enough to not just wade but swim through my intoxicating depths of midnight thoughts and passion that burns crimson to the touch.

Do you feel my soul?

This inner calling of dedication to a purpose I signed up long before I placed my feet upon this luscious earth.

Erotically longing to find a home in this world where I might be safe from the pillaging of normal and mediocre.

Peacefully lulled by the frequency of light, making sense of nothing and letting the somethings become complacently lost along the road of individuality.

Do you feel my body?

My inner juiciness drenching the stifling heat of living life unscripted; the moments of waterfalls that creates an oasis of sensuality for those brave enough to traverse my wilds.

Rounded curves and succulent valleys await a leisurely drive of purity and pleasure.

Music to the touch, and a poem upon the lips; what I am can’t be made sense of—only felt.

Do you feel me?

Across time and within the darkness of space between what is and what could be.

Broken by the tepid disbelief of reality and the lingering scars of love gone wrong.

This is me.

Whole, loving, and waiting not just for your touch—but for you.

Do you feel me?

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Author: Kate Rose

Image: Flickr

Editor: Lieselle Davidson