touched. Like magnets
on a table, edged closer
and closer, but never enough
for their fields to intersect and for
their arms to seek the other’s flesh.
Almost.
Like live wires,
unclothed, held near enough
to know the existence of the other,
but too far apart for the spark
to arc from lip to lip.
Like the moment has everything
it needs: right person, right place,
but —
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
