The touch I miss

The thing I miss most is

Touch on my skin, on

My arm, on my face

The gentle kiss,

Fuck I miss that

And I go up and down

In the dark and the light

Exploding a supernova above me

To collapse a black stare

That draws all in with its

Devilish attraction to consume all

Joy, all hope, all future

And the laughter and the story

And the chance for something great

Together, though it never really was

This I know, now,

But I mourn, and mourn true

Not pouring the sorrow into

Beer or distraction, but

Felt, and explored and worked at

And grieved.

I think I could love forever a woman

Who touched me

True.