moon batchelder - They Touch

they touch
not deep enough to feel.
their love,
a show of lust.
nor sit them down
to taste a meal,
in haste
but dip the crust.

they skim the surface,
water spiders
gliding o'er a pond.
they know
they're prisoners - but own
no will to go
beyond.

for superficial souls,
sufficient
inobtrusive game.
but bonfires rage
my heart within,
not single darting flame.

moon batchelder

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