Back when, in one breath, our heartbeats
Synchronised, like keeping still, refrained;
Like waiting through the worst of the rain,
Small, soulful touches meant we were soulmates.
A hand on mine, keeping it pinned
As both gesture and possession,
A memory in its place; one touch of heaven.
That is what has gone. And now, I see,
We allow each other to live the same life
In different rooms. And I will, if given
One half a chance, place that very
Same old hand of mine upon your knee
And you will look me lovingly in the eye
And say, so tenderly: “Not now, baby.”
I am glad to say that this feeling of distance i not something from which I am currently suffering. It is, however, no stranger to me. It happens by accident: by time, by insidious inaction. It happens to us all. The love needn’t go, for that touch of heaven to pass.