Even my name will carry forward
to years I will not touch. This certainty remains
as truthful as it is obvious. We exist
in this fractured reality.
We all will die.
Admit that and you will move
more freely in this world.
Journey or adventure.
Most of us, week to week, are not aware
of a destination or even our path.
This has been my familiarity.
No other person’s experience can be
compared to your own experience.
We know various versions of the truth.
Time is tactile.
My hand will cup a breast only while my lips
have a taste to be quenched by lust,
Others will touch, or wish not to be touched.
Morals coat any decision made.
Experience tells us so.
Any human connection is hard; even harder
is loss of connection. Emotions are a commodity
shared with few, expressed by even less of us.
The mind is never vacant, but a room muddled
by darkness. This space hosts a scent
I will remember after I
am left for dead.
We will all die; most of us alone.
Admit that, and you will move
more freely through this life.
© 2019 j.g. lewis
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