i have not touched your face
so that i may unclothe your back.
i have not landed my frail hands,
on your hips, so that
your own seemingly
barbaric ones, may find mine.
i have not touched your lips
to discover your throat, your lungs,
or the words unspoken. i have not
brushed back your hair to plunder onwards, to
read your thoughts.

i have not touched you to say
that i love you.

were i a better woman,
i would not have kissed
you deep, the open-mouthed,
searching kisses. were i a better
woman, i would have kept my bare
skin far from yours. were i a better woman, i would
have touched your skin in reverence, would
have held your hand through
the dark, seemingly endless mazes of desire, would have
kissed you naked in the garden of eden.

i have not touched you
to claim you, have not yet lit my skin
on fire to brand yours. i have not
thought of a future past linen
sheets where roses will bloom. i have
not held you and thought of your other lovers.

were i a better woman i would have,
and i would not have
followed you down the roads
you've stoned yourself.