alone and old and weathered, in the warm glow of rustling fire, i breathe and long and languish, and rack my mind for bits of treasure.
alone and old and wistful, i see your flowing hair, decades ago, when you peered over my shoulder, and your jacket grazed my back, and my grey senses burst, with the smell of your shampoo.
when with my neck i touched your feathery hair, and sparklers whistled in my scapula. when through the hot air i felt your lips, plump and full, and the warmth of your round and glowing eyes. when your giggling skin was thrilling mine.
i remember now, i feigned nonchalance, as i longed and longed, that you never moved an inch.
i remember i wondered, how long could we keep it like this? how close could you come without us touching? hm, it wasn’t long. i remember, before we collapsed.
before we collapsed, before our dull contact, before our contracts and boundaries, before your dry lips on my cold neck, as i looked at something else, before we were like two machines, craning mechanically, performing what we used to do.