16 Days Later
My window flung open,
an invitation soft as zephyrs traded
between deserted skyscrapers.
It’s somewhere to go.
Open arms for a touch-starved
soul. Longing unquenched by
hesitant “welcome homes”
and quick scurries when
you step foot into the same room.
Fleeting stares
at what you’ve touched and
the faint remark of bleach
on all your surfaces.
My skin, which peels
and chafes from every wash,
which remembers not the warmth
of loved beings, of
smiles that do not twitch,
of eyes that do not fray.
Long had it memorised
goosebumps from leaning
on shower tiles, collecting
the merchandise of sore eyes
and triple eyelids,
temporary scars of a long night
gazing at that step, dreaming
of clutching onto a bird
and never letting go.
