Don’t Touch Me

We passed in a flurry of passion.

Your eyes said contact me.

Don’t touch me.

Others were flimsy ghosts haunting themselves.

We were real, but didn’t believe in ourselves.

The longer we looked, the less we saw.

The less we saw, the more we doubted.

The passers-by passed us by

The hangers-on fell.

We were entirely alone in a crowd.

An intimate distance.

Searching for answers and finding more questions.

We sketched out love like impressionists

We mimed when the words wouldn’t come

Sometimes the world closed out

And thoughts flew like birds in an aviary

We talked like it didn’t matter

And were dumb when it did.

Sometimes our eyes would meet

Without our faces

And elope.

Sometimes your eyes said get in touch

But don’t touch me.

Roy Stannard 6.9.25