fragments of a love poem

1

if I could be someone
that somebody was capable of loving
this would be a love poem
but as it is it’s just a note
left on a table in an empty room
with no light

2

when you crave human touch
but know that you haven’t earned it
and may never satisfy that craving
you curl up into yourself and dream
like a hermit crab
whose shell is warm
and painted on the inside
but also cold
in a way that can’t be fixed with heat

3

I dream and dream
and am forgiven
walking in the arms of one
as naively drawn
as when I was sixteen
all sinew and loving embrace

4

and you fold against his chest
like a towel perfectly draped
across a radiator
so that every fibre dries
and feels fresh to the touch

5

loneliness is lack of touch
and you get why people go mad
without it
why babies turn in on themselves
and waste away
why those who live grow up stunted
how killers come to be

and all the morgues of heartless hearts
bled out and little more
than blood’s office space
still pump when the lights have gone out

leaving just a note
on a table
in a dark room