condense

it’s the distance between the congregation of the clouds 

and the commencement of the rain

that reminds me we’re untouchable

(particularly by one another).

perhaps unlike the sound of boots on snow

–a crunching, a connecting, a cusp overcome– 

or the tongue licking the finger,

the finger flipping the page.

unlike your mum and dad after they renewed their vows

and threw their shoes into the sand, just to dance together.

an entrapment of lithe, lusting limbs

like mating wolves.

i’ve stopped sucking my thumb now; it’s swollen

but the feeling still reminds me of you 

and how you asked me (though over the phone) 

is this okay?

such moments fragmented across the ocean,

and shoddy mobile static, 

they remind me we’re not simply untouchable

but untouched.