The last touch

Low life, low light and no sharp edges.

To roll from bed to carpeted floor and out the door without standing upright.

I lie there and still, in half dark, half night, regretting the things I said, acquired from me with such gentle skill.
And still
it stings.

Worn out dreams, more vivid than ever, waking exhausted to greet another dull day,
wondering why I bothered to set the alarm.
‘Okay, campers, rise and shine!’

Do we still think it’s gonna be an early spring?

Lets count the days since the last touch.

When the shop assistant reached beneath the screen which divided us and brushed my hand with his, ever so slight.

Is this what all the fuss is about.
And do I need to start over from scratch.

I decide to ride it out.

The screen reminds me of american prisons movies and I want to press my palm against it
and have him mirror my touch, fingers outstretched and touching, almost but not at all,
the expectation of warmth.

But the exchange is finished it’s clear and so I take my items and leave.

I’ve been taking tips on loneliness from astronauts in space, a pilot and a child prince,
and a king with no subjects
who commands the sun to set at dusk each night
and rise again in the morning.

Its good to have a routine I guess.

I was thinking about what you said.

I don’t know if that ever goes away, or if it just becomes quieter.
Moves to the back and waits.

It must be hard to be sad in a place that’s so idyllic. Or does it help.
Makes it ideal or unreal in a way.

Does it help to tell yourself
that this is what sadness should look like?

We feed ourselves and we do on mass, in panic and in bulk. The sewers bulge under the strain. People please, we cry, we’re all frightened and hungry here.

I like you so I’ll keep my distance.
I love you so I’ll keep some more.

Stay well, stay home, stay warm, stay sane.
Wont you stay now, stay now
and all of the above.

I can’t seem to get that song out of my head.