Touch

The house of the body is a stately manor open for nothing never to the public. But for the owner of the house, the key-holder- the body swings open like Ali Baba's mountain glistening with soft gold & red jewels. These cannot be stolen or sold for money. They only glisten when the mountain opens by magic or its own accord. The gold triangle of hair, its gentle ping, the pink quartz crystals of the skin, the ruby nipples, the lapis of the veins that swim the breast. . . The key-holder is recognized by the way he holds the body. He is recognized by touch. Touch is the first sense to awaken after the body's little death in sleep. Touch is the first sense to alert the raw red infant to a world of pain. The body glimmers on its dark mountain pretending ignorance of this.