In the waking minutes of a new year
a fantasy draws near fulfillment
—and is interrupted.
Tonight
I have sat at your feet
and longed, longed to touch you.
I have smiled teasingly into your eyes
and noticed that I held your gaze
for moments that suspended time.
I have taken your hands,
kissed your lips,
wondered about you infinitely—
and at this hour
I am left
wishing desperately
for more time with you,
because now
I can only imagine
what might have happened
and whether I will touch you again.
January 1, 1988