It Was Just Beyond My Fingers Poem by Kale Beaudry

Eternally feeling you on the fleshy patterns on my fingertips,
an epochal sensation stemming millennia - only on human skin.

Not necessarily a physical nebula, but a knowledge in knowing
that your ferocious fire hangs off a starchain like a portrait.

Personal paralysis, blissfully bound to the bounds of bliss,
eyes unable to open but seeing everything anyways.

Obstinately oblivious to the flies crawling in and out of my mouth,
corpus consumed in my love of hell and divine devil spawn.

I, the human skin, forever feeling. Even though you literally live
over ten million miles above, hanging overhead like a stalactite

waiting to fall. Unlike a calcite deposit, however, you would estinguish
the world with a whisper in a universe no longer listening.

So here I sit, fabricated, body and mind moving consistently
forward in an orbit that I played no role in creating. Yet still.

Yet still I can feel your beautiful breath on my fingertips, the
flies on my face, and everything ensnared in your onslaught of colour.