Never Touching; Touching Everything.

Headlights cut through the flitting snowflakes through my window.
My heart races. He’s here.
Why is he here?
He left a party. Left his buds. Left the booze. For what?
Supernatural reruns.
Stale Doritos.
A worn merlot loveseat.
Snoring, slumbering toddlers; one wall away.

Sobriety. Reruns. Toddlers…. Why is he here?

Our hands rest inches from one another, never touching or coming closer than passing by to change the volume.
He smiles at me.
He sees… me.
A messy ponytail and a tee shirt.
Eyes that haven’t known a true nights rest in months.
A body that brought toddlers to be.
He sees me, and still he smiles.

He smiles and I blush, and somehow we are closer than before.
Still inches away but oh so close.
My hand reaches for his, and drops.

I belong to another.
Another, who no longer belongs to me.
Another, who no longer loves, wants, or needs me.
Another who loves another and wants another and IS another but I belong to another still.

His hand moves to cradle my face, but he stops.
I belong to another. And another is his friend.
His hand hovers by my cheek and he begins to move.
We cant.
We both say so, without saying a word.
But still we move.

His hand hovering by my cheek, mine above his arm, we move.
In circles around and around each other we move.
Never touching yet touching everything.
I feel him caressing my skin though we never make contact.
I feel his skin beneath my fingertips, though we have yet to close the space between us.

Endlessly we move, circling, passing, caressing, wanting, needing, taking; while taking everything and nothing, needing everything, giving nothing. Never touching.
Until it ends.

Duty calls him home, and another will arrive soon.
My heart has stopped beating.
He is leaving.


But he cannot. Will not.
He should go. And I should go.
And I should have gone long ago.

But he goes.
And I don’t.

And he is gone and I am alone with the thought of him and the smell of him and the feel of him that I’ve never experienced.
The touch I’ve never known.
So I touch myself, alone, and I want to go, and I want to come, and I want to go.

But I stay. And I stay and stay and stay.

Photo by lilartsy on

[This was the night I made love for the first time. No, not sex. Not physical, not fucking. This was the first time my soul truly connected to another. We never touched but we explored each other in a way neither of us had ever known. This night, was the single most erotic night of my life; up to that point. And this, poem, or story, or whatever you read it as, was honestly the most painful, and beautiful, thing I’ve ever typed. There is so much more to ‘our’ story than this, and as time goes by I will find the words to share more of it with you. Until then, keep wondering, Hoo did what?]


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s