I am alone here in this place.
Yet people surround me.
I am in a bubble of cautious space,
The sense of touch taken from me.

Will I never hold a lover in these arms?
Or an infant to this breast?
Although this package has its charms
There is no one unafraid of the test.

So ever the outsider looking in,
I watch these couples touch.
I think that wishing should be a sin,
When it begins to hurt this much.

I can only accept quietly,
What I long to rage against,
And every day it weighs mightily,
This power that makes no sense.