nothing nothing

we have never
deliberately held hands
except for crossing the roads
                        parting the crowd
                           and whatever other lame excuses I can                            conjure.

we have never
kissed good night
                 or morning
                       or afternoon
                            not even goodbye
                            even saying them makes me feel like a                             desperate trespasser.

you couldn't have known
the purpose of my hands' travel
whether it was business
or pleasure

the latter an elusive concept
beyond my shrill grasp.

your space and privacy have become too sacred to me
I dare not soil them with my touch.

so I have nothing to miss, really
just everything to wish.