Thinking about Surfaces
I reach down to the water I see in the stream,
for the soft drops of water that rest delicately on stones.
I scratch my hand as it bristles through brambles
I ache for my reach to find touch…
In the abrasion I notice a change in the stream
In the current
I stop.
I search for a smell and recall breathing.
A heat plays close upon my lips,
and around my neck
And aahh… a warmth
all over my face.
But still.
No breathing,
neither blood
nor even a graze to my hand.
Nothing I realise,
all surfaces are lost,
again vanished
perhaps never there at all
I think about surfaces again
about touching things
like animals
fur,
hair and skin.
Actions of stroking
of suffocating affection
and I remember poor old Lenny from of Mice and Men.
I remember childhood stories because I’m tired of reading
so many words on screens,
everywhere
overwhelming information.
I prefer children’s stories
and they too like me
we like to imagine.
I think about surfaces again, and I think because I want to feel.
This time the surfaces are cold and scaly
like the side of a fish
that slaps
and slides down my cheek
Chilling…
sounds resonate inside me
echoing eerie vibrations
up and down my spine.
Like a fog they vaguely gather
seeking out hollow spaces,
in-to
through my lungs
I feel a cold speckling frost
take grip
and DO NOT leave
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