Fermented summer
wafting through a bedroom
window, screaming for
action, garnering
disinterest as two
half-grown humans
make a bigger mess
of the already-dirty
sheets
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the sieve and the sand 
Kind of a depressing way to look at the concept of touch – personally I’d prefer to think of touching in terms of “fireworks,” not messes. 😉
Perhaps.
But I will make this statement: Just because it’s not poetic doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.