Love Poised Fraught

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poised

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Arms outstretched.
Hands out thrust.
Fingers stretched out, reaching, straining, hurting,
just barely fail make contact, left hanging untouched.
Only a tiny spark zings between the fingers.
Like static electricity,
which flows when bodies
stroked with emotion
get charged up with a warm dry rub
and discharge with a tiny whip's crack.
Our love forever poised,
never had the impetus
for completion to fruition.
As we balked at commitment
fraught by quandary and trepidation
of expectation's negated equation.
Poised thus, we now will never know
what could have been,
what becoming could have done
if our fingers touched
touche.

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