Mike Stone's "Cupped Body" is about the overwhelming effect of another person's touch. The speaker holds that touch inside themselves, and the feeling is so intense that simply burning feels the same as being alive. From there the poem zooms out to something huge: Adam's pond, and a child throwing the first stone, as if this one moment sets off the ripples of the whole human story.
The middle stanza is the most dramatic. Everything feels like "clashing cymbals of meaning," and even an eyelash can draw blood from the speaker's "fathomless will." Love here is both powerful and slightly dangerous. After that, the poem gets quieter and more broken up. The short lines, like "Star fall and kisses" and "Thoughts of impossibility," read like fragments of thought left over after something huge. The mood is awed, dizzy and tender, with a hint of longing. The speaker seems to feel that this touch is beyond what words can fully hold, even while trying to put it into words.