Touch (part 2)
I never had enough pockets to keep
things in or enough money to buy a
ticket to get inside you. I didn’t
like the telephone or the throbbing hum
when it went straight to answering machine.
I couldn’t ever reach you or touch you
or have you. I wonder if your hands still
know me. Could they bend to touch the bones in
my back or still warm my shivering skin.
What inspired me: A five minute short poem (a false sonnet). I never got the chance to disappear inside you.