Touch Poem by Tom Billsborough

Touch



Is there no rubric to govern this séance?
No subtle science to delete chance?
Where love's music without pause
Sways us in unison
Until the dance is complete.

No! We must be content
With tactile choice,
The gambler's instinct
And his confidence,
And if by chance we lose the chase,
We use the gambler's smooth excuse.

Monday, June 27, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: touch
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Tom Billsborough

Tom Billsborough

Preston Lancashire England
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