Touch

Comes in many fleeting forms - 
    	fingertips 
brushed bare shoulders
    	feet glancing under a table
bare skin on the small of a back

The gluttons pass it like butter,      
     slowly and frequently 
     oiling their kid gloves. 

For the starved it is a maddening hunger
     a burning need that is
     never sated long enough..

But for the fearful it is a conflicting   pain
    		oh! 
But to be enfolded by another
only at the spark of a caress 
to run
forever heartbroken.