Waiting Is

Did we ever touch
with meaning--
do you know what I meant:
when my fingers brushed your cheek;
when my hair spilled
like dark sunshine
over your shoulder;
when I pressed against you,
trying to push through
the barriers of clothing and
flesh--
did you hear my unspoken intent?
And my eyes are hungry
for the sight of you,
denied
like something addictive and
wrong--
still I want, still I long, still I yearn,
and never learn.
I know that you lied
with every soft breath.
It doesn't matter.
My foolish heart insisted
that I could save you, change you,
show you
that there was something real
outside of yourself.
And maybe you listened,
maybe you learned, maybe believed.
Only time will tell.