Touching Like It’s Innocent

Crossing pinkies

Chapped lips

Champagne cheeks

It was lips to band-aids, thumbs chasing tears, hands that spoke of love

Fingers reached, caressed, but did not paw

It was naive

Sweet

Not quite pure but far from filthy

Skin not quite soft

Intentions not quite honorable

The innocence was not in the lack of need, want, red lips, or silk stockings

It was the blushing cheeks, the stammered apologies, the fumbling, the maybe’s

The touching wasn’t about the how or where

It was the who

The hands that pushed swings towards the skies

The voice that sounded like a fine-tuned lullaby

The eyes you could paint with your eyes closed

The hands you could remember after years apart

Childhood grey grew up to be burning Scarlet

 

Twenty-one,

not a single regret

 

That was the innocence

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