Knee

Some part of your body in contact with mine. The brush of a hand in the small of my back, the warm brief pressure of your knee. This is all of my body pressed against yours, a screen kiss with the naked pushing of breasts against your chest, groins locked together. Of course it is never like that. It is always elbows poking and teeth clacking and a clumsy redistribution of weight. But this small point of contact is perfect in itself. All that I need, I say, but it is not. I indulge in the necessity of full body contact later, with my eyes closed and the little slide show flickering on the dark screen of my imagination.