Contact
Thirty six bus bound hours
through the Andes
felt like a mere day and a half
pressed next to you
my hands
fighting fidgets
restrained on the arm rest
or policing my lap
when all I wanted was to stretch out
and touch you
to cure my cramp
then fall in love
the shout
of a word weaving finger
changed
everything
my lens flicked
floorwards
an instant blur to a blind sift
of the detritus sluicing there
our tentative touches
trailed over unseen
trinkets, their Braille bumps
spelling lost
still we searched
corn cob here, tissue knot there
melted ice cream between
hairy, sticky, boiled sweets
trawling once more against the bus judder
a bottle top crinkle wheeled your palm
a sliver of sight
in its spongy heart
divorced from adhesive filth
my liberated vision
took you in,
slumber steeped
on my shoulder,
the first hummingbird hover of love
thudding reflections,
searching for an open window
