Precis

No one can force you to think anything. 

I decided to write what I could not say.

I could not feel what I did not write.

Hairbrush against bare skin is language.

Skin blue after the beating not the heart's.

The only sound is hope of hearing bread rise.

Hope sounds like a loved bread rising.

Your hands could not learn to gentle me.

Gentleman is a fictional noun. 

Who can sketch the features of the desired?

Desire inflects a perfectly carved face.

Better to trace history with the hand.

Between the careful hands is history.

No one can force you to think anything.