We touched.

Was it just an exchange, or did we just have a full, frenzied hour pouring out our deeply hidden secrets — the kind we could never let another soul know, but us?

Was it passion, when all of a sudden we burn for the touch we can give and still the fire that we forge?

It is not love, perhaps a fierce yearning, yet all we crave is the other’s becoming.

Might it be shared consciousness, for what binds us is never our hearts but the shared musings of life.

Should the day arrive when we understand what we have, may we not unravel—for you are the distant space I flee to when my own world whirls too wild.