back to back, they talk, knowing the next phrase
wrists and hands in sync,
gliding along in strangely dank September air.
my feet press into worn soles, aching
as my jeans cling to my body like a scared child
I walk onward.
In passing, I think of you and your sturdy hands
not thne most important thing, but striking to me
as are your eyes, as is your smile and stature
and all I want is you to hold me
as your face whispers things into my neck
I walk onward.
I sit to waste time, delaying my needs
as I write bad thoughts onto glowing screens
jumbled and frayed, weary and incomplete
I can't say that I will ever feel the same
The gut to the knife is an everyday deal
I walk onward.
and even as you pass me by
a stolen glance, eyes pressed together
as young things rest their hands on mutual thighs
breathing in out in out
accepting each other as their own
I feel a hollowness deep in my chest.
I walk onward.
