Touch

I’m fine until you touch me
My feelings are concealed
behind a facade of
polite courtesy
We walk together
Down a country lane
Between delicate offerings of
small talk and clever quips and
Ditches filled with
Blue Corn flowers and
Silver Milkweed Pods

We match steps and
Interests in common
Casually, you rest your hand lightly
on my arm
Something goes off in my chest
I stop breathing
My face grows hot
You appear not to notice the heat
Which seems impossible
I pretend not to notice your hand
Which is impossible
I focus on my feet with great interest,
I’m afraid to look
At the shape of your long slender
Artist’s fingers
Where they rest on my skin
I’m afraid the acknowledgement
will break the fragile spell
Between us
Finally, unselfconsciously,
you turn and walk backwards
You tease me
About living so far from Montreal
I say
'It might not be forever'
And look deep into your face behind your eyes
Quickly, I re-adjust my mask
It has slipped momentarily askew
Revealing too much
But, there is no turning back now
I wear your mark on my skin
I still feel the imprint
long after
You leave
to go
Back to the city
Like a chain of miracles