Bran, you would love Octavio Paz's poems.
let me give it a try.
Fingertips' Touch
by: Bran Lorenzo
If green could describe strength as a Spartan, then even Xerxes would cower,
as does superficial fascia cowers and protracts to the edge of your scalpel
But as I come over to show you the proper technique, i can sense your timidity
your body hums and is nervous on my arrival, i stir it my had on your back.
I take your hand and place my on top, guiding your fingers to fascia to fascia,
cartilage to bone, nerve ending to musculature junction.
With my peripherals i can see you are looking at me,
but i do not budge, for you see, i have you now even when i do not face you.
Ever so inclined to show you more, i take off the surgical gloves and with bare hand on hand,
i guide the scalpel. cold surgical steel pressing down the serratus anterior down the mid thoracic grid,
to the abdominal trunk.
I can feel your fingertips on my finger slightly, giving in to my direction,
the tension is gone, all that is left is calm surrender.
So with a firm smile and a wink or two, i can see your face mellow to mine.
"Such a surgeon" you say, oh no, woman, not surgery, its just anatomy.
You smile, i cannot help but return one, then in the back of my mind, i question my reasonings
why i did that. Why i did what i just did.
Then it is obvious. Affection.
That is when i first met you.
Everything else is history.
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