Look

but don't touch
like a sign in a china shop
it hovers above your head
Look, but don't touch
See, but don't feel
Gaze at longingly, but never stroke, brush, converge with.
I'm breaking in these shoes, see?
I'm feeling out the edges of uncharted territory
This- this is what they call lust?
This is what it feels like to want something you can't have
Longing to reach out and take what could so easily be yours
And stopping yourself.
Wishing to tap, pat, fondle caress, heck even just graze, become contiguous with, connect with, pet
And exchanging all that desire to study, inspect, observe, contemplate
Exchanging contact for the mere contemplation of how it would feel
To run my hand down the side of your face,
to grasp your hand in mine
To stroke the lobe of your ear or kiss the crook of your elbow
This- this is lust?
this is the thing I'm taught to fear, to run away from?
It doesn't feel hellish
Frustrating, yes, but simultaneously heavenly
For I would rather spend a day gazing at what can never be mine,
Wanting it, yet denying my desires
Than spend a day in the presence of angels.
Call me sacrilegious.
Call me depraved, fallen, abominable, corrupted, disgusted, despicable
But don't deny me the right to
Look,
But not touch.