Playlist: Depressed
Song 18: When You’re Gone by Avril Lavigne
Fingerprints
Touch starved. Fingertips skating over cheekbones, a warm hand on the back of my neck, the heavy grounding weight of a hand on my head or shoulder. Lean on me, push me into the ground, root me down and stop me from flying away. Bracelet my wrists with your fingers. Push your presence into me, make me less alone. Tuck my hair behind my ear, push it out of my face, braid it when it’s long, rub it when it’s short, but never leave me without your fingerprints all over my skin. Do not let me reach a place where I can only remember my own tongue and teeth on my lips and skin. I have been there before, am there now, have leaned into every casual touch, seeking an intimacy that didn’t exist. Find me and anchor me please.
Little Gentian 
This was a very sensual read, in more than one form of the word. I love the contrasts, especially when they’re in the same sentence. It really is intimate, and yet so forceful at points; it feels like the person is so desperate for touch that he or she doesn’t necessarily mind what kind of touch that is, as long as its there. That’s just what I get from it. But anyways, thanks. I thoroughly enjoyed this little trip.
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