Contact

Frenzied from caffeine and doubt,
I flick through my contacts.
A list of forgotten names and lost opportunities
Of do-not-answers and distant relatives
Of many acquaintances and few friends

No one I can tell.
I fear I'm misinterpreting something I must understand.
I need contact.
I need touch.
Sound.
Taste.
Breath.

I need to know I still can.
I remove myself to avoid the omnipresent You.

Comfort comes in small doses.
A hit
A laugh
A kiss
Ephemera
Still just one moment chronically dying,
But never quite dead.

Stay mindful.



And yet she remains.



Wolf bites man.
The man grows rabid and bites back.

Neither will be satified
until he is engorged on the other's viscera.
Neither is tamed,
Just maimed.



And for what?
For unmade phone calls.
For a lonesome soul.
For a girl.
For contact.