PRIVATE ROAD

One night your fingertips brushed my arm and the next you were gone.

I walked these grey streets with blurry eyes, searching for those hands.

Hands that were settled on her golden hair and so far from mine.

One night you brushed your soft fingertips down the arch of my back. They told me how beautiful I was.

I knew that you would be gone but still I walked, I ran, down dingy streets and under darkened archways.

In my fiery eyes is the image of your fingertips touching her face.

Here my face waits for you, beneath these white sheets and bright lights. I wait for you.