Out of Touch

We have lost touch you and I, But was there ever what you would call “Touch” between us? You held me as a baby, but as I grew, so did The awkwardness that surrounded you, like barbs. There was no comfort, and we were never to close for it. Yet I distinctly remember a touch or something very much Like a touch, A whisper of, a slight suggestion, Yes a whispered suggestion aspiring to be a touch. Loitering with intent, in the folds of your arms, In the tips of your fingers, a touch Hung in the balance, Waiting to become, waiting to feel. It never quite made it though, The years brushed it aside with other dust, And now we are out of touch, you and me, And with out touch, there is nothing to hold us together. We have run out of touch, And I wonder if like breath, it will ever catch up?