Approximate Contact
There is a period of time, before the first intentional brush of a hand across a cheek or thigh, the first more-than-friendly embrace, the first meeting of lips, that is so completely charged with the electricity of possibility, bouncing back and forth between skin and eyelashes and teeth; the man and the woman draw close enough for the finest hairs on their arms to rise up and touch, then the man or the woman pulls back—this awkward and instinctual dance repeats, again and again, the elastic space between their bodies becoming charged with heat and intention—each instant of approximate contact spreading outward like fingers fanned.
