this is the feeling of soft tissue.

running my hand along the curved railing of the staircase

my feet follow one another without worry

my fingers want only to be running

and as i put both feet on the floor

I'm set against that moving sky

the movement in winter

the cold air on skin

and heat, which is momentary

a blanket of warmth

the heartbeat in the palm

the tingle of words

a soft forest seeking sunlight

the rainfall keeps us here.