desistance

Desistance

It glows amber, warm from subtle friction,

A matchhead slowly drawn, never lit,

Stretched over a thousand smiles.

It's the space between us, the vexing gulf,

The humble paradox of distance never closed,

A desolate, welcome comfort.

In the commercial curve of your neck,

In your familiar clothes and skin,

At last I conjoin affection and grace.

I do not mind the lack of fire,

Or the infrequent, incidental brush of hands.

I starve for them.  I relish their absence.

I am a creature flush with inverse desire.

When twinkling eyes set my fingers to trembling,

I will them still.  I do not reach,

Even in that too-soft moment in the fading light,

As your hair spills across your eyes and halts my voice.

I refuse the golden mercy reflected in your lips.

I turn away.  I tend my chilly embers,

Stirring the seeds of a flame that will never burn.

But let them simmer, and warm me from within.