Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "She didn't like anyone to touch her. Except me. I was "safe.""

All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
I don't like her because she won't like me
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
She didn't write like Emily Dickinson, but she did live in a house overlooking a cemetery, and I guess he thought that was important.
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
I was raised on red pepper and blood. I am so hot if you strike me I will light like a match.
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
She knows no truth except her own.
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She asked me to read her a poem
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
When someone was willing to drown with me, I really didn't want to drown anymore
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
the space was filled with love like light and that made me shine as well
She told me I looked like a Henry, and this is how she would know me
Sex and death have both spat me out like spoiled milk for the same reason. I was not afraid.
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
"You've never danced with anyone like me before," the angel and the devil said to one another.
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
She hit me like thunder, and I had to lie down until I could breathe again
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
Is it fair for him to love me when she craves his touch?
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
She is lobbing rainbows at me from across the room and I am swallowing them like fear.
It is safe to say that I'm going to get my payback if he is anything like me.
I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
She was cilantro, jalepeno, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
The girl didn't know if she was loved until he said yes.
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
She was never mine. I always shared her.
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
The portion of her face she allows me to see
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
does she need to touch her own face to know?
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She always was devious in her beauty
She didn't know what outside was anymore.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
I will have her forever but I can't touch her
Fuck and please her like never before with the Stimulator!
Bathe her and bring her to me
When I look into her eyes, I no longer care about what the world thinks. This is what it feels like to be alive.
let her take me, feed on me, devour me
Where was her angel all those times the sky clouded over
when I touch her I hope it's you that smiles
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
Despite her station, the quarry was never alone
She Will Have Her Way
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
Nicest things anyone's ever done for me
Seems I might have stolen the blue part of her rainbow, but all I really did was make it bigger, a way bigger blue
This Motion Encompassed in the Touch of Her Lips
Her name was Natalie
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
she had already found her party
I feel like I don't know her for a moment. It passes.
Anyone could know just by watching her silent moves
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
A day like this could make a Transcendentalist out of anyone
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
Can anyone bring me some Shazbot?!
An ocean away and here he was, seeping into her
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
Her photography captured little beautifuls and me
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
At night, her eyes closed, she would
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
All he left her was alone
I can't think of anyone who could appreciate more than me your eyes and your voice
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
To anyone who this may have hurt, please forgive me. The darkness keeps calling and I must go.
The virgin was looking apprehensive about the whole ordeal, but for the right amount of cash anyone will take on a horse
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
Her eyes were gray like a storm, and even more dangerous
She flies with her own wings
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
You can’t see it like that. It’s never been anyone’s responsibility to do what’s impossible. It’s not yours.
ultimately, i just like you. more than anyone.
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
If I didn't ask, I'd never know (how much you hate me)
Anna and her Mother: spinning me in circles
serene. She sips her tea
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
The colors flow through her like a rainbow
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
His ex-wife was so frigid, her clitoris was only the tip of the iceberg.
Why I didn't get my driver's license until I was 18
Why didn't you listen to me?
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
Even the moon likes to change her colors
I didn't think that the air could scream in resistance until you approached me
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
The last girl I dated was a vegetarian. We couldn't go anywhere and so it just didn't work out.
I got a girl in the war, Paul, her eyes are like champagne
I didn't want to know where I was conceived
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
I didn't know such things when I was young
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
Sex just walked by me, and I didn't get any, dammit
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
Don't tell me about her
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist
I like it when I dream of her. It's the only time we get to talk.
Her hair was seaweed and the Pacific wind sang
she lit her thumb on fire
She practices her speech
I told her the driftwood looked like Spain
She didn't believe in transcendence
Now she's in my doorway, accusing me with her soft breasts and long legs, strong hips.
she didn't believe in kissing outside of art
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
If she didn't love you she would kill you
She thought about giving him her heart
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
They need food AND water? You didn't tell me about the water part.
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief
And her knee touched mine
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
I didn't ask if the glass was half full or half empty. I've always had enough to drink.
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
I never metajoke I didn't like
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
I'm sorry, I didn't realize God was on campus today
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
the fire didn't hurt me, though---we're old friends
sunset rainwater turns her sidewalk chalk-art into a sherbert delight; a surprise gift from chaos that tumbles her like tinkling bells onto the wet grass
I ate her love like a nine-piece bucket of chicken
And her legs went on forever, like staring up at infinity
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
her ardent eyebrows are charcoal scimitars taut above eyes that breeze like open windows
I didn't have the heart to tell him I was lying about taco night, but at least the hellhound made some friends
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
Tied up tight, like a bride on her wedding night
her reflection is safe
What was I thinking when I said it didn't hurt?
her hate keeps me warm. her shadows keep me guessing.
It’s herself she didn’t love
It clings to her like dedication in the rain
I set my sister up with her husband, and all I got was this great dress and a trip to Hawaii
the way she wears her weary

If you Log in you could create a "She didn't like anyone to touch her. Except me. I was "safe."" node. If you don't already have an account, you can register here.