The constant fiddling with everything I touch,
mere seconds have past since I last checked my messages
half smiles for the benefit of my companions
mind wandering to a distant island where soft white sand lay –
soggy and pinkish as you painted a picture from an earlier phone call
And even far away, you manage to tug at my lips
as I stride past your train of thoughts – conjuring a reverie of a sweet
summer song, no matter how out of tune we both are, or how much left our feet can possibly be
laughter gurgles from under as stealthy droplets hug the creases
Something stings west my chest, not unbearable
noticeable still, another memory presents itself – the gentle strokes of my hand in your zebra hair, the rare closeness of your warmth: something we treasure
in the stolen weekends – arms draped carelessly around me. steady breathing. eyelids placed neatly, the occasional shudder passes your eyelashes.
Just peace. You as a living sedative or a dose of Chamomile tea.
Soothing synapses for a breath then resuming to
blowing stray wishes and checking up on 11:11s
and still our clocks never line up to exactly where we need to be that makes farewells less like being extricated from the embrace of coffee on a sleepless night