Across a Span of Days

She lets me notice
the back of her legs
when she walked
up the stairs.
I wanted to feel
her dark smooth
skin beneath my
fingertips. I dare not
cross that line.

Your language clicks
under your tongue
in the aftermath
of summer storms.

When did we break
contact and become
scavengers? Do you
know what it’s like
waiting for you across
the span of days?

You showed me strands
of your lonely soul
then hid away
in your blanket of grief.

I was her. She was me.
Back then in the past tense.