about contact

Rolled up a tune somewhere,
That dignified hum we turned
on
As we left the room
On our way
out

Sometimes we curl up in a corner
Forget
what we said yesterday
Sometimes, drunk or high
We
will lean over too far.

An old fasioned female
exchange
of admiration, intrigue and gifts
A hairs
breadth away from keeping lockets-
our photos, a curl or an
eyelash.

We secretly gaze in mirrors
Watch
fingers that curl round mugs
and store the image for
later.
We compliment
and take note
of what
we are told and how
it is said

We walk with
langerous step
idly linking arms,
barely touching,
barely
making contact