I can no longer deny
my need to touch,
to be touched,
a shoulder rubbed,
hair tousled,
to not be rebuffed
when I reach out
across the chasm
of your silence
to offer a caress,
or a hand to hold.
I have given up my voice
far too long, and now
I find myself hungry
for touch and affection
and no one to blame but me;
for not speaking up,
not seeking more often,
for not seeing
the elephant in the room;
for not calling you out
on excuses that sound
much more like blame
than reasons why…
or why not.
Whatever it is
that causes your skin
to flee from my love, please,
get in touch with it
so you can finally
get in touch
with this woman
you’ve vowed to love,
who lies in your bed
summoning the courage
to rest a hand on your side,
awaiting a shiver,
as your skin rejects her
before your mouth
even utters a word.
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