as a thousand touches linger ghostly one fidgets, forgetting each masquerading as friends, lovers, family most striking like rains of winter fall like air has worn disease still i reach, persistent an ant to sugar me to the mug pitter-pattering brewery waited upon like rains of summers out by the doorway a thousand leaves rustling beneath my feet a thousand touches scouring away my being a flower perishes, perfuming my heel a touch lingers, seeps, secures thus an existence begins far off the meadows now i walk these puzzling paseos withering into wildflowers yet to perish far, far off into grasslands of farish as the thousand new touches drawing in i keep falling for the whispers —intimate, raw, flayed lingering in the mud, waiting on the rain with freshly brewed beans, cupping my hands it tastes like coffee it tastes like dirt it tastes like chocolate it tastes like us after a thousand flavours, still—you linger, ghostly