I often touch things I'm not supposed to. I always have ever since I learned I had a good hand to use. The yellow caution signs and warning tape trigger an undeniable urge that I cannot contain. I must know what you feel like. 

Brick walls felt like old conversations where sentences were harsh and there was no compromise. 

Silk and satin felt like a layer of love grew inside of me. 

Glass felt like an unattainable reflection.

Stone felt like my relationship with my mother. 

Fresh water felt like I was being baptized again.

My fingertips touched everything they could, sliding themselves into the tiniest of corners that you would never believe. I should have known when to stop but my curiosity went far beyond the usual routine. I didn't know what to expect when I first felt your skin. 

Would you be soft like a faux fur jacket?

Would your skin be warm like the sun shining behind you?

Would your eyelashes feel like butterfly wings? 

Little did I know it would be all those indeed but forbidden and only to see. Even so, my hands pleaded, begging to trace along the freckles of your face, repeating that they’d be gentle. 

You felt familiar like you’d frequently been in my dreams.

You felt fragile like a delicate porcelain doll.

You felt like a heartbeat, one that's crucial for survival, one that is necessary if you want to live. 

I was begging to live. But alas my consequences have caught up to me.

I should have known that curiosity kills the cat.