want the world.
all the people in the world.
ride the train.
crowded.
want to curl into the soft arms
and shoulder of the person beside.
feel the fabric of their jacket
pressing quilting or tweed or knit texture
in to face skin all too gladly.
wrap around the knees
of the person standing straight ahead.
nose folded into worn denim.
press bicycle pedals
past parked cars and city buses.
want to lean too far over,
crash red and tingling
into the black street.
get peeled off
by some beautiful passerby
who takes me to a nearby park
and combs my short hair
with gently calloused fingers.
just want touch.
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