We sit beside each other
And even though I am close enough –
Should I wish to embrace you –
To do it,
I do not.
And you continue on
Talking of something or other
That comes out as words
But registers in my mind only as distorted sounds
Muffled by the desperate desire I hold within me
To touch you.
I reach out, extending my index finger towards you
And in an act of reconciliation I brush lightly against your skin.
It is reminiscent
Of the way I used to place my hand, as a child, against the
Extending mass of the sea,
Hopelessly trying to feel its heart beat in conjunction
To the beating of the sun against my shoulder blades.
Then, I treaded the water so very lightly
To feel it kissing my palms.
The ghost of a memory resides in me of another kiss,
At the conclave meeting of your lips against my fingertips
This is how I touch you now,
Running one singular finger
Down your arm,
From the elbow,
to the mole
on the inside of your wrist.
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