the fact of being someone someone wants to touch

the fact travelled across savannahs, shrunk a little through the deserts, got wet in a couple of jungles, nearly drowned in a famous sea, glided over snow peaked (just) mountains, and found itself, like a fog, slowly crossing the channel, approaching the white cliffs and then on in went, avoiding knife crime, to rest on my shoulder, in my ear like a tiny, little, bug.