It was the love for the quiet objects <br />that was the passion for me <br />The caress of not a human <br />but a books words, a records tones <br />and melodies <br />The kiss of not a woman nor a man <br />but the passion <br />from a black sky <br /> <br />Because the cold objects could <br />not hurt me <br />The way humans always do<br /><br />Old Teenage Poems<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hurt-59/
