Roy Stannard's Blog

When you think you know it all, ask the next question

Intimate distance

  • Don’t Touch Me

    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 Read more