When I’m done here, perhaps I'll have touched you, and, in turn, you might reach out to touch me. I haven’t given nor received it much, too, not in a warm to warm sense and such, see. Is it only with words that we connect? No, we sense our feelings from a distance. Words’ warmth a thermometer can’t detect, not like skin might with skin in this instance. But the human touch is something we’ve lost, for so long, both giving and receiving. Perhaps, to you my embrace feels like frost, but we can’t see, since feeling’s believing. Or I guess we could go on just as we are, comfortably sharing our affection, with my hands on these keys and this space bar, yours touching glass and your own reflection. So this poem’s done, hope you felt it, too, and thus in its own way it did its part. It’s not enough, but the best I can do, until we touch like my words touch your heart.