If I Could Not Touch You

If I could never touch you again, I’d lose my will. I could not go, on or through. I’d crumble where I stood. Who could stand such cruelty? Who would do such a thing? How could I stand to look at you, knowing my hands could not feel your body again?

I’d remember the feel of your skin, so soft, beneath my finger tips. The feeling as my hand ran down your arm, before taking your hand in mine. Fingers entwined. Heat radiating between our palms. Give that up? Have it taken away? I could not go on. 

I long to touch you even now. I want to feel the weight of you in my arms. Heavy laden am I, with desire, with need. For the pull of gravity, the attraction of one body to another, holding each other. Holding each other together. For without you, without the touch of you; I’d shatter.

So though we must be apart, separated by distances too far for my arms to reach. Despite the fact that I won’t feel your breath warm against my neck as we sleep. My fingers do not run along your cheek, raising your eyes to mine, and our lips do not at this moment meet. Despite all these things and more, I do not despair. For I know I will touch you again; because if I could not touch you. I would come undone.

This is for a dVerse prompt: I’d like us to focus on one of the five senses (sight, taste, smell, touch, or hearing) and write a poem exploring what your life experience might be without that sense.

I hope you enjoy! 😊

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