Touch
Me
by
JOHN
YATES Touch
me. Touch
me. Oh,
God,
John,
please
touch
me. Her
fingers
stroke
my
cheek,
softly,
softly,
and
I
raise
myself
away
from
her
body
and
reach
for
her.
Fingertips
explore
her
skin,
her
nipples,
her
face.
Her
eyes
melt
with
love,
legs
clasp
my
hips
to
her.
Softly,
gently
we
rock
with
each
other. Oh,
God,
why
can’t
I
touch
her.
Really
touch
her.
Why
can’t
I
stop
this
charade
and
love
her
truly,
like
she
is
loving
me
now.
Why
must
I
always
hold
myself
back
when
the
biggest
part
of
me
wants
to
immerse
myself
fully
in
her.
Fully,
with
no
consciousness,
no
thought.
Why
must
I
lie
to
her
with
every
soft
caress,
with
every
kiss,
with
my
body
joined
to
hers.
It’s
all
a
lie.
I
am
a
lie. Make
love
to
me. I
love
you. God,
how
I
love
you. Oh,
Ruby,
I
love
you.
I
say.
I
lie.
I
do
love
her.
I
love
her
like
no
other
woman
I
have
known.
I
love
her
with
every
part
of
me.
I
love
her
with
complete
sincerity,
complete
honesty.
Yet
it
is
all
a
lie.
I
love
her
only
with
the
parts
of
me
that
I
can
find,
and
most
of
me
is
strangely
absent.
From
her.
From
myself.
I
give
her
complete
honesty
in
the
form
of
an
absolute
lie. “I
love
you,
Ruby.
I
ache
for
you.” And
I
do
ache
for
her.
I
ache
every
second
that
we
are
apart.
Her
fingertips
send
lightning
bolts
of
electricity
across
and
through
my
body.
My
penis
becomes
hard
when
I
think
of
her.
When
we
are
apart,
I
am
obsessed
with
her.
Obsessed
with
her
lithe
dancer’s
body.
Obsessed
with
this
willowy
woman
who
once
danced
magic
for
me
under
the
trees.
Obsessed
with
her
wild
laughter,
with
the
mischief
and
sex
and
love
that
glow
in
her
eyes. “I
love
you,
Ruby.
I
do.
I
love
you.” And
it’s
all
a
lie.
The
most
honest
lie
I
ever
have
told.
The
worst
lies
are
told
in
utter
honesty.
These
are
the
lies
that
rip
apart
the
liar.
The
lies
that
make
me
feel
hollow.
The
lies
that
make
me
get
drunk
and
dance
to
loud
crashing
music,
and
then
send
me
to
knock
once
again
on
her
door.
********************** The
last
time
I
saw
her,
we
had
been
apart
for
five
years.
She
had
married.
She
had
asked
to
see
me
again,
in
order
to
exorcize
the
obsession
of
our
lovemaking
from
her
heart.
She
told
me
it
would
be
the
last
time.
I
don’t
know
if
she
succeeded,
but
I
do
know
I
exorcized
her.
I
exorcized
her
by
coming
to
despise
myself
for
the
seven
years
of
completely
honest
lies
told
by
a
lost
and
confused
man
who
tried
to
touch
her,
but
could
not,
who
wanted
to
touch
her
but
on
the
deepest
level
refused,
and
in
his
delusions
could
not
allow
her
to
touch
him.
At
least
not
enough
to
truly
matter.
Until
now. Even
the
most
awful
lies
ultimately
are
lies
about
themselves,
for
she
touched
me
as
I
never
have
been
touched.
I
can’t
lie
about
that.
I
still
can
feel
her
fingertips
reach
out
to
my
face
18
years
ago.
I
still
can
see
her
eyes,
still
feel
her
legs
wrapped
around
me,
still
feel
her
body
melt
into
mine
in
an
orgasm
of
complete
acceptance
and
embrace.
Do
you
have
any
idea
how
it
feels
to
be
completely
embraced?
Do
you
have
any
idea
how
it
feels
to
be
unable
to
accept
it,
even
as
you
are
accepting
it? Touch
me. Touch
me. Oh,
John,
I
love
you.
********************** “I
love
you,
Ruby. “I
love
you,
Ruby. “Ruby. “Oh,
God.”
*********************** I
remember
the
paper-thin
red
dress
that
clung
to
your
body
like
a
second
skin
as
you
danced.
How
you
would
dance
for
me!
You
danced
through
fields
and
around
massive
oak
trees.
You
danced
through
streams,
danced
splashing
through
puddles.
You
danced
in
the
snow,
and
across
your
livingroom.
You
danced
through
our
lovemaking,
enveloping
me
with
your
grace
and
wildness.
A
dance
of
wildly
burning
longing
that
wrapped
me
within
you. How
I
longed
for
you,
Ruby.
How
I
longed
for
myself.
How
I
longed
not
to
live
this
lie
that
shattered
my
heart
even
as
my
body
sang
with
joy.
*********************** I
close
my
eyes
now
and
you
are
still
there.
I
reach
out,
touching
your
face,
my
eyes
meeting
yours.
Our
bodies
not
moving
at
all.
My
touch,
my
eyes,
bring
you
into
waves
of
orgasm.
I
love
you,
Ruby.
Wave
after
wave
after
wave
of
your
love
caress
me
until
the
heat
of
my
passion
is
drawn
from
my
body
and
into
yours. And
then
you
reach
out
and
touch
me.
You
touch
me. I
close
my
eyes
and
remember.
I
cannot
bear
such
beauty,
such
lies. Me,
a
sad,
supercilious
sonofabitch.
I
always
had
my
reasons.
I
always
had
my
excuses.
You
always
believed
them,
and
sometimes
so
did
I.
No,
I
always
believed
them,
and
that
was
the
worst
lie
of
them
all.
************************* Ruby,
Ruby,
angel
of
sweetest
love
who
walked
out
of
the
ugliness
of
her
home
in
the
high
mountains
of
North
Carolina
and
into
the
streets
of
Providence,
Rhode
Island.
Into
drugs.
Into
a
bad
marriage.
Raising
your
baby
by
gutting
chickens
in
a
meat
plant.
Up
to
your
elbows
in
chicken
guts,
but
too
stoned
to
care.
One
day
you
and
your
baby
took
off
running
and
didn’t
stop
until
your
car
broke
down
in
Pennsylvania,
10
miles
from
my
home.
You
reached
far
down
inside
yourself
and
found
the
strength
to
pull
your
life
together,
and
one
day
we
met. We
met
in
a
park
and
you,
lithe
apparition
of
sweet
wild
love,
you
danced
for
me.
I
danced
for
you.
We
were
on
fire,
we
were
electric.
We
fell
into
a
bed
of
passion
and
lies
and,
for
seven
years
we
were
in
love
and
our
love
was
the
most
tender
incarnation
of
deceit.
It
was
love.
It
still
is
love.
I
love
you,
Ruby.
I
don’t
know
where
you
are
or
even
if
you
are
still
alive,
but
I
love
you.
It
is
myself
I
cannot
love,
and
I
lie.
I
do
love
myself,
and
that
is
the
problem,
because
some
days
I
have
no
idea
why.
Some
days
I
get
sick
to
death
of
loving
myself.
I
could
not
love
myself
by
loving
you.
I
could
not
love
you
because
I
could
not
love
myself
as
much
as
you
loved
me.
I
am
a
master
of
lies.
I
lie
to
myself
every
day
when
I
try
to
convince
myself
that
all
of
my
clever
ideas
and
grand
ideals
mean
that
I
am
a
human
being.
Most
days,
I
am
too
hollow
to
even
weep
about
it.
But
I
weep
about
you,
Ruby.
Now
I
know
what
you
knew
then,
that
all
of
my
ideas
and
ideals
were
just
a
way
of
making
myself
into
some
sort
of
grotesque
inhuman
gargoyle
who
could
not
really
touch
you
or
feel
you
touching
me.
I
am
still
lying,
Ruby.
I
am
still
betraying
you.
And
myself.
**************************** You
are
laughing
now.
Joyfully.
Lustily.
Drinking
beer
in
your
cutoffs
and
tank
top
and
laughing.
Head
thrown
back.
Body
sending
waves
of
pure
sex
straight
into
my
gut.
We
dance
drunkenly
to
hard
rock.
Cheap
thrills,
and
I
love
every
second
of
it.
You
are
beautiful,
Ruby.
Ruby
my
redneck
angel.
The
angel
of
body
and
soul,
of
laughter
and
lust.
Of
love.
Yes,
yes,
of
love. I
love
your
lust,
too.
Your
lustiness.
The
life
that
pours
forth
from
every
breath
you
take.
I
love
your
trashy
tank
tops
and
cutoffs,
and
the
way
your
bare
feet
caress
the
Earth.
I
love
you
in
perhaps
the
least
false
of
my
lies
when
you
jump
on
me
and
pull
me
to
the
ground
on
top
of
you,
laughing
and
tearing
away
my
clothes.
I
love
you
best
when
we
are
covered
with
sweat,
bathed
in
each
other’s
fragrances
and
musk. Lusty
laughter. Devouring
me Anointing
my
body
with
cheap
strawberry
oil. Licking
it
off
when
it
turned
to
sugar
that
scratched
our
skin. Licking
it
off
of
you. Laughing. Playing. Touch
me. Touch
me. Oh,
Ruby,
if
I
could.
If
I
could. “and
if
wishes
were
fast
trains
to
Texas, How
we’d
ride,
how
we’d
ride,
how
we’d
ride.”
*
********************* Ruby,
Ruby.
Your
laughter
touches
me
like
your
fingertips.
It
touches
me
now.
It
touches
the
lie
of
me
laughing
with
you.
I
did
laugh
with
you,
Ruby.
Sometimes,
for
a
few
seconds
at
least,
my
laugh
was
as
raucous
and
lusty
and
honest
as
yours.
But
there
were
the
other
times,
Ruby,
the
times
of
lies
and
deceit.
******************** We
always
had
to
make
love
twice.
Always.
The
first
time,
we
were
gentle
and
loving.
We
held
each
other
tightly
and
our
bodies
hardly
moved.
The
power
of
our
touch,
of
our
love,
brought
us
to
orgasm,
drew
our
bodies
into
complete
union,
into
love.
Into
the
closest
feeling
of
oneness
that
is
possible
for
me
to
conceive. But
there
was
always
a
second
time,
a
few
minutes
later.
Always.
It
began
with
your
devilish
grin.
Sometimes
with
tickles.
With
laughter.
Our
mouths
crashed
together
and
our
tongues
met
in
a
duel.
Teeth
ground
into
teeth.
We
were
wildness,
Ruby.
Wildness.
Madness
of
pure
fuck.
Laughter.
Passion
without
bounds,
without
rules,
without
giving
a
damn
for
anything
except
the
moment
that
the
force
of
our
intensity
made
the
only
thing
on
Earth.
Breaking
bedframes,
burning
our
bodies
on
rugs.
Screaming
orgasms
that
caused
dogs
to
bark
and
howl
four
blocks
away.
And
laughter,
Ruby.
It
was
laughter.
It
was
love. And
yet,
somehow
it
was
not
enough
for
me.
Or
maybe
it
was
too
much.
Yes,
it
was
too
much.
I
was
the
lie.
********************
You
began
to
dance
before
me
in
a
slow
throbbing
rhythm,
and
took
my
hand.
We
danced,
and
my
wife
joined
us.
The
three
of
us
held
each
other
and
swirled
to
the
music.
I
kissed
you,
and
she
kissed
me.
You
kissed
each
other.
My
thoughts
were
coming
in
disconnected
waves.
Every
passing
thought
and
emotion
were
completely
disassociated
from
the
next,
as
the
music
and
your
weaving
body
swept
me
deeper
and
deeper
into
a
whirlpool.
The
two
of
you
kissed
and
suddenly
we
were
on
the
floor
making
love.
There
was
no
gentleness
in
any
of
us.
None
at
all.
We
plunged
into
a
raging
torrent
of
passion.
We
became
maelstrom.
You
did
not
touch
my
face
or
look
into
my
eyes,
and
I
did
not
touch
you.
You
drove
your
body
into
mine
as
hard
as
you
could
until
you
came,
screaming
my
name.
Until
she
screamed
both
of
our
names
to
your
touch.
It
was
fire.
We
were
conflagration.
Afterwards,
you
and
my
wife
sat
together,
brushing
each
other’s
hair
in
long
strokes,
and
I
sat
alone,
detached,
disconnected,
as
always.
Together
we
had
experienced
something
that
was
absolutely
true,
but
as
I
watched
you
and
her
I
knew
that
I
had
turned
it
all
into
a
lie.
Into
the
lie
that
is
myself. Touch
me. Touch
me. Please,
John,
touch
me. I
tried,
Ruby.
I
tried.
And
I
lied.
I
lied
to
you,
and
I
lied
to
myself.
**************************** A
February
thaw
with
the
thermometer
showing
60,
and
the
three
of
us
walked
through
the
deep
snow
to
a
thermal
spring
cascading
down
a
cliff.
You
and
my
wife
took
off
your
clothes
and
allowed
the
water
to
flow
over
you.
You
blended
your
body
into
moss-cover
rocks.
I
snapped
photos
of
the
two
of
you.
I
carefully
arranged
myself
to
catch
light
and
shadow
as
my
mind
constructed
you
in
my
own
image.
In
the
image
of
the
way
things
should
be
to
capture
my
feeling,
to
capture
my
vision
of
you.
They
were
wonderful
photographs.
Will
you
believe
me,
Ruby,
when
I
tell
you
that
those
were
the
last
photographs
I
ever
took
that
were
meant
to
be
anything
more
than
a
snapshot.
Sometimes
I
look
at
them.
I
captured
the
lie
of
myself
perfectly.
You
became
the
woman
I
conjured.
I
can
see
your
lovely
breasts
and
firm
body,
your
long
dancer’s
legs
and
the
incredible
musculature
of
your
back
and
shoulders.
But
I
don’t
see
you
in
those
photographs,
Ruby.
I
don’t
even
think
I
see
myself.
I
see
something
abstracted
and
as
far
from
me,
as
far
from
you,
as
we
are
from
each
other
now.
Now
you
are
gone,
and
those
photographs
are
painful
proof
that
you
always
were.
I
reach
out
to
touch
your
face,
and
all
I
can
feel
is
a
celluloid
lie.
**************************** A
night
by
a
campfire.
Sleeping
bags
spread.
You,
sitting
on
my
lap,
rocking
back
and
forth,
back
and
forth,
as
we
listen
to
the
soughing
wind,
feel
the
song
of
cicadas
vibrate
through
our
bodies.
You
reach
out
for
me. Touch
me. And
you
do. Touch
me. And
I
do. Legs
wrap
around
me,
tightly,
holding
our
bodies
together,
keeping
us
joined
as
we
rock.
We
are
love,
Ruby.
We
are
life.
I
feel
the
tensing
of
your
muscles
as
you
press
into
me,
and
hold.
Press,
and
hold
tightly.
Rock
softly
as
we
are
joined
together
in
oceanic
waves
at
your
salton
center.
You
look
at
me
and
my
eyes
focus
on
the
campfire.
Focus
on
dancing
flame
devouring
itself. Touch
me. Touch
me. And
I
can’t
touch
you.
I
am
mesmerized
by
flame.
I
love
you,
Ruby.
I
love
you.
But
all
I
can
see
are
flames. Flames
that
devour
themselves,
and
then
burn
out. *
Lyrics
to
a
song
written
and
performed
by
Jerry
Jeff
Walker |
Do
you
remember
the
night
you
wanted
to
meet
my
wife?
For
years
we
were
kept
safe
by
the
illusion
that
it
was
only
my
crumbled
marriage
that
kept
us
apart,
even
though
she
was
mostly
gone.
We
kept
safe
because
it
was
me
and
only
me
who
kept
us
apart.
It
was
the
lie
of
my
love
for
you
that
kept
us
apart.
It
was
the
lie
that
I
told
myself
long
enough
to
believe,
and
then
to
tell
to
you.
I
brought
her
to
your
house,
and
both
of
your
wore
red
dresses
that
clung
to
your
bodies.
You,
thin,
wiry,
muscular
and
dark.
Quiet.
Intense.
Her,
blonde,
strong,
big-boned,
passionate.
Emotional
and
loose.
We
began
to
drink
wine,
too
much
wine,
and
talk.
There
were
candles
and
incense.
Your
music
was
loud.
Blues.
I
thought
it
was
for
me,
but
it
wasn’t.
It
was
for
you,
and
her.
Reflections,
lies.
And
your
own
private
truths.