The thought of you touching me
makes me sob.
You were too soft to me.
So soft I didn't notice
when your hands slid off my body
and never reached for it again.
I was not fragile art
but you feared your fingers
would cause my erosion.
I'd rather be destroyed by your touch
than let time take its time with me.
Tell me you still want me,
not that you want others to have the ability to too.