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I remember
From some cramped laminate classroom
The principle that our atoms never touch
The idea
That when I press my thumb to index
Till their knuckles blush white
They never truly touch

When I place my hand against your face,
It is not me you are feeling
But my heat tranferring,
My surface tension,
My walled away being
Behind Van Der Waals attractions

We never truly touch
Instead we slide past and beside and between each other
Those lovers treading water in the stairwells?
They never truly touch.
By any means,
I could be the space between their hands and lips and waists.
I could rest between their atomic bonds and droplets of breath.

We all float past on each other on unjoining planes,
Beating against our orbitals,
Trying desperately to overcome the space between.

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