The author of the classic "Eighteen Touches" is unknown.

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Beat the drums fast, then the gongs slow; stop the gongs and drums to listen to the song.

Even idle chatter is sung. Listen to my eighteen touches:

Reach out and touch the hair on her face, like dark clouds drifting across the sky; reach out and touch her forehead,
full and alluring; reach out and touch her pubic hair, spread outwards and wide in the middle; reach out and touch her eyes, dark and white; reach out and touch her nose, wafting gently outwards; reach out and touch her mouth, her baby eyes smiling gently; reach out and touch her chin, her chin like a dagger on her chest; reach out and touch her ears, her protruding ears swinging like a swing; reach out and touch her shoulders, her shoulders as old as mine; reach out and touch her ribs, her ribs curving and hugging her shoulders; reach out and touch her pubic hair, more beautiful than a wool brush. I reached out and touched my sister's chest, my chest nestled within her body. I reached out and touched my sister's palm, her palm curved on either side. I reached out and touched my sister's nipples, like freshly steamed buns. I reached out and touched my sister's big belly, like a rice paddy. I reached out and touched my sister's small belly, her soft belly pleasing to my eye. I reached out and touched my sister's navel, just like the plump navel of yesteryear . I reached out and touched my sister's buttocks, like fluffy white cotton. I reached out and touched my sister's thighs, like white silk threads of a winter melon. I reached out and touched my sister's white knees, like an ox pulling through mud. I reached out and touched my sister's calves, they wouldn't budge, they wouldn't open. I reached out and touched my sister's small feet, her small feet delicately touching my shoulder. I touched her whole body, then both sides, then the middle, the left side touching the nipple, the right side touching the head.

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The author of the classic "Eighteen Touches" is unknown.

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