Conjectures and Imaginations

Sights and
sounds are of
little comparison.
But touch.
Touch, live a
thousand lives.

Faces.

Touch
another’s
face, connect.
Smooth,
or rough?
Warm. A
smile?

Reach.

Strain for
sky. Remember?
Laying on
our backs.
Tracing comets
across the
horizon.

Faces

come and go.
Once young
but now aged
for eternity.
Faces leave
faster than
they come.

Left to sights,
some new.
Sounds muffled
and cliché.
I’ve yet to
live even once.

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