Untouched

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I wrote this in July 2000.


Untouched, yet felt,
a guilty glance offered
with the knowledge that
once accepted,
once succombed,
there is no going back.

Untouched, once more,
we talk around the heat
that hangs between us,
levels of meaning
silently entwining,
warm in our minds' caress.

Untouched, we part,
and sigh that friendship
held our hearts in virtue.
Regret is sweet,
and yet I wonder.

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