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