Tingle
It came as a surprise That my most ticklish spot Is my hands I discovered it at work While lost in thought As languid fingers traced a map On my palm Where ridges rise and fall Like crests and troughs And in the blazing wake of exploring fingers is a burning trail That aches and tickles In a sweet discomfort I traced the outline of my hand Until I reached the borders of the sensation losing the electricity the shaking vibration that races at the surface Pulled from somewhere mysterious in me It's a warm, sweet tickle That starts at the palm and turns to a hearty laugh as it edges from my thumb It lights up where my fingers join my hand Quiets at the stalks of them And breaks out again but ceases at my finger tips Where my thumb faces my fingers The tickle is dead It lives on the outer side of the digit instead And a curious swipe along the back of each finger reveals a nervous shout of tingles Along the skin so pale that culminates in a synapses' kiss just before reaching ...
