“Touched my heart,”

as if the words that were

assembled in a certain

way reassembled

themselves into a hand,

a hand that was invisible

yet tangible,

a hand that pushed through

skin and flesh, through

your ribcage,

and stopped just short

of your pulsating muscle

of a heart, a hand that

just ever so slighty

extended its fragile index

finger and touched a

body organ that beats

out feelings and memories

and regrets and desires.