6/7/19

The light of your constellation
keeps me awake, a cold, unreachable
paleness amidst a black infinity. 
I reach out, fingers straining upwards
through space, but I cannot 
touch you. You are a dream, and 
they tell me it is better this way, 
better to look than to touch, but
my soul still aches for contact. I ache
in ways they could never understand.
What is so sinful about want? What
is so wrong about my reaching for you?
Tell me, please! How can touch be damning?

- A.T.
6/7/19