by Charles Kesler

There’s a whole lot of healing
and religion
in just the touching of skin.
Skin when it is patted down dry
from a bath in ancient herbal scents.
Scents and creams and powders and dreams,
lotions and skin so soft, kissable, layable.
Layable on satin sheets
where the wonder of it all
would make a cannibal retire
and spend his last days relishing
what he would have previously eaten.

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