There are touches that excite.
Touches that tease.
Touches that comfort.
And then there are touches that remember you.
That see the child, the elder, the truth behind your jawline.
That don’t ask for permission to matter, they just do.
I’ve been touched with expectation.
I’ve been touched with lust.
I’ve been touched by people who wanted to own me.
But the rarest touch, the one that stays with me, is the one that asked for nothing back but presence.
The one that said:
“You don’t have to pretend with me.
Just be still. Let me learn your story from your skin.”
Sensual ≠ Sexual
We confuse the two.
We treat touch like currency: exchanged for pleasure, approval, access, affirmation.
But there is a sacred form of physical connection that doesn’t need climax.
It needs contact with meaning.
To be touched like you’re more than a body,
more than a shape,
more than an object of desire,
is to be touched like a soul with skin.
Romantic Sovereignty Includes the Body
To be sovereign in love is not to shut down the body—
It’s to reclaim it from performance.
If my body is sacred ground,
then every touch should be made with reverence.
Not fear.
Not entitlement.
Not detachment.
A Touch Can Be a Contract
- The first time you hold their hand and feel their nervousness mirror your own
- The hug that breaks you open after years of holding it together
- The fingertips tracing the stretch marks you once resented
- The thumb over the lip that says “you don’t have to speak”
These are moments that don’t post well.
But they live in the body forever.
What Makes a Touch Sacred?
- Presence — Are you actually here, or performing intimacy?
- Energy — Are you giving or taking?
- Intention — Are you reaching out because you see me, or because you need to be seen?
Men, Let’s Talk
You’ve been conditioned to touch to conquer.
To seduce, not connect.
To escalate, not attune.
But what if you slowed down?
What if you touched her shoulder not to lead her toward sex, but to tell her, “I notice you”?
What if your hand on her back was less about directing her body and more about reassuring her spirit?
Final Note
Touch me like you’ve read me cover to cover.
Like you know the parts that scare me and still choose to underline them.
Touch me like your hands are saying something your mouth doesn’t know how to say yet.
Not because you’re trying to get somewhere,
But because you finally arrived here.
Right here.
Right now.
Touch me like you mean forever.
Or don’t touch me at all.