10 December
Sansevieria, ficus, rubber tree
People sitting intentionally apart
Toe socks and sad(?) phone call
Nobody is looking at me
The greying weight of industry piling up
Make up applied in some perfunctory fashion,
foundation obscuring basic human features, the contrast and lines
that make a face; something inexplicable about it.
In some semblance of keeping up appearances, my fingers move across the keys
in a very deliberate manner,
the strokes helping maintain a façade.
This pretense is the ache that courses through my forearms
and radiates out to my fingertips.
When I touch you, you feel this stinging,
[Find a word for the need to be noticed],
the desperate heat.
