28
Jul
14

She knows

She knows

That

My lips

Ache

For the touch

Of hers,

Pressed softly,

Or fiercely,

Or quietly,

Or hurriedly,

Or inappropriately

Against mine.

She aches

Too,

We both ache

Separately

Together,

From a distance

Both great

And small,

And nonexistent,

But there.

The fingers

That entwine

In the air

That is empty

Without

The other hand

To hold,

And clasp

Tightly-

The fingers

On each of our hands, as they lie limply at our sides, in the dark, searching across the room, and across the distances, for that moment of contact that we are not allowed.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

July 28, 2014

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