not in touch
even though I blew you
not two hours ago and
this has been going on
for so long
and even though we are
friends and talk
(all flirty and flippant with
extreme shifts to personal and frank),
I am scared
to curl up into a ball
towards you, into you, especially if you fall asleep
before I do – as is so often the case because
I never sleep anyway and sometimes I think
I forgot how to fall asleep first,
into drunken sleep, into
confidence, comfort zones, all those
close and cozy cares.
I am so afraid to
reach in the night
for your hand, thigh, shoulder.
and even during the transition
from dark to dawn to day,
desperate inaction holds its firm grip.
I’ve been known
to chain-smoke, throw back
a beer, get high, do anything – something
so I never have to peel off
the wrapper and find
no prize waiting when
I lie down next to you. Sometimes,
waiting, I think I could fall asleep
in your touch, waking but asleep,
next to you, but am so afraid
you won’t so I can’t
do anything not to feel
lonely. not here, not now, not
next to you, not in touch, and
this has been going on for
so long.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
