When I touched him my hand did not pass through

When I touched him my hand did not pass through.

Something is wrong.  Something is broken.

The ocean of the bed carries us on waves.  Conflicting currents.

I turn to you just as the current separates us and place my hand on your shoulder.  It is a desperate act.

But it is just a hand on a shoulder.

It used to go right through, my hand.  It used to pass through and then redistribute itself.  But my hand was stopped by your skin.  Just a hand on a shoulder.

It is a tragedy.  You probably don’t realize the grief I feel.  I can’t pass through you anymore.  I used to pass through you and hover in a delicious space.  A garden.  A peace beyond description.  But I am outside of you.  And no matter how hard I push I can’t find the way in again.  It used to be so simple.  All I had to do was touch your shoulder and I was there.

How will I bare this life on the outside.