Talking to women
On the bus,
condensation fills the windows;
sticky and humid vail
from breath captive.
The rain outside beats-
I know it's there
but I want to see it
for myself.
I reach out,
wipe away moisture shadow-
gone: I see what I see everyday;
my hand wet- cold.
-Matthew Koutzun
1 comment:
i could sense the moving of the bus. i could sense the silence and apathy of the riders around. i could feel to the most painful extent the desire to reach out and have something, to experience something, only to find it missing.
and then i experienced grief, and the whimsical longing that we all have somewhere, but almost certainly will never be fufilled.
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