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VALENTINE'S DAY

I remember the first time we touched.
Your hand approached slowly
and I dreaded it,
tracing invisible eddies of air in its wake
as it cut a path to my palm.

As my skin accepted it,
I recall the pleasure inherent
in that contact, my mind reeling
out of fear and desire,
and I felt your pulse against me.

It surged through my left ventricle,
stopped the rhythm of my heart
for a minute or so it seemed,
then the memory of that touch
restarted the flow of blood.

And that's all I need—
that one quick caesura of the heart
to remind me of how I feel about you
and how I you feel about me
and how we still share those silent touches.