Space Invader
Sometimes it feels more comfy out of bed
to exchange glances through a crowd -
your palm meets with mine like butterfly wings.
It’s strangers who bind us together, left
together it’s strangeness that we share.
Sometimes your difference is distance I’d like
to trespass, find a back door like a stag
does, say, where - without stripping - I could hang out,
whip my body off like a pinny
(but have it ready for you to unmask).
Like snap cards, side by side, we’d play -
I’d see your hand without showing you mine.
Sometimes I’d like to be there when I’m not,
witness the space you stare into,
without disturbing it, without consent.
Page(s) 56
magazine list
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