Touched

I told the family I am in good hands

My sweet "Inky" visits me often

And I have come time and again

To welcome his intrusions

The kids said to me

Please come back to reality

That what I'm feeling

Is only an unkind fantasy

I hear them whisper every visit

Mom's old curator's mind

Is lost in antiquity

She is her own museum piece

Ravaged by time

Lost to the ages

They cannot know

What it is to be touched

Of mind and of body

By you Inky who called

Fondling my listening heart

By your divining rod of desire

You took me there

In the deepest archives

And I knew what it was to be touched

The children mean well

Looking out for me

Sitting with me for a spell

Saying life is a mystery

Reminding me it was one year today

That you passed away

And they are afraid it's me losing touch

They say I am making them uneasy

So now I keep to myself that it means so much

That you are still reaching out to touch me

The kids said to me

Please come back to reality

That what I'm feeling

Is only an unkind fantasy

I hear them whisper every visit

The children need not fuss

I am not alone in this

I shared the Book of the Dead

With all the gals in our old age home

It would have been selfish

Not to share you

And everyone screams happy now

My sweet, sweet incubus

© 2026 John Osinga. All rights reserved. St. Thomas, Ontario, Canada.