There is a concept in religious circles here

(and other shapes;

rectangles, rhombuses,

rorschach blots freckled with faith)

that the way to get closest to a person

is to not touch them.

So

they laid in your car side by side,

her elbow holding her head up like

an exhibit on falling, on disbelief

and you puffed up your unshaven cheeks

and blew in her face.

It blew her eyelashes back and they

bowed their blonde-headed arms at you,

They heard you tell her a

bedtime story with your eyes closed

and they laid down to sleep too, lacquered down with

air conditioning fluid brushed wet through the desert nighttime air.

At dawn,

you promised you wouldn't touch her
as you

lit a cigarette and held it to her mouth,

her lips an inch from your knuckles

and she breathed you in and blew

the smoke out the car window where it

hung suspended like a ghost.