Love Poised Fraught

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.