Loneliness is the human condition.
I know this because our bodies are never prepared
I reach over to you and static sparks between us
like a match, a quick pang that leaves a resonance
in the finger tips.
We still jump when people tap us on the shoulder.
Still shudder when lover’s comb their fingers through our hair
and recoil from violent hands that threaten to impact us.
We can never plan how certain touches
How fresh shells of snake skin feel under foot.
How beautiful it must be to understand Braille
as a native language, small bumps translating to a
mountain under finger tips.
I never planned for this, to decipher myself into isolation.
It is difficult to conjure the nerve to touch your face
when there were so many nights
with only my heart beat for company.