Untouched
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.