The Conversation, A Beginning Poem Poem by Karen Touzalin

The conversation began somewhere around 12 midnight
after you got home from work
and ended around six a.m. by my clock
or seven a.m. by your clock
Still time zones were not a factor in our discussion

Talking till dawn peeped reluctantly through my window
and the sunrise came as a surprise to both of us
Sharing easily with a telephone line between us
topics just personal enough
to make it exhilarating
without the commitment to touch

Touch remains the human technique for ‘getting to know you better’,
babies and puppies touch and taste with reckless abandon
before eyes and hands fully comprehend the
ecstasy discovered by lovers
or the reality of losing touch with someone

The swell in your voice made me want to touch you
and convince myself that you were real
a study in metaphysics
and
not some magical reproduction of my fragmented
mind.

I knew you then, even beyond the confines of space
and the relativity of time
sharing my essence with you
through fiber-optic cables and wires and poles and long distance providers

Late one Friday night I gave you me,
delivered my heart early one Saturday morning,
even though to the casual onlooker, we were just having
a conversation.