Intimacy is a transient state

or so it has been as I’ve known it

The one who brushes through first 

is only a pilgrim and my vessel his westward land

The still heat from birth welcomes only a fleeting touch

and a burn serves no purpose to a rolling stone

This body will yield to one with a silver tongue and a sonnet

A flesh delight or spiritual dance

No touching of bodies outlasts time

No unity of beings endures distance

To taste lasting intimacy is to destroy the finite 

the feeble and failing temple of blood and bone

and to presently know that all you know will pass

and all you love will perish