I felt that text in very delicate places.
Imagining your hands, kneading, flexing,
My heart races as our faces linger, but never touch.
Fingers interlacing, nothing exists outside this headspace,
I retrace my steps, pacing,
My thoughts carved out in boldface as I lean into this embrace.
Deface and erase past harms of old disgrace,
This isn't a footrace, but I'm running to someplace I might find grace or save face.
I am out paced.
Misplaced.
Replaced.
My heart races as our faces linger, but never touch.
