Small Talk

My love language is touch;

my atmosphere is distended from my eyes, reaching out and craving contact with you.

Look at me!

Your mortality touches mine when these spheres in our heads align

And

I

feel

grounded.

I am reminded that I am interactive;

Part of me is body.

I wish I was acquainted with humility and didn't feel the need to be known,

But I do.

Will you know me? Will you ask?