My list of people

Yes, you.
You with those eyes, those hands.

I like those hands.

Just like those.

I want to feel those hands.

Hey you.

I could just lean over a bit. Just a bit.

Our knees could meet. Could touch.

Just like this. Or a bit longer. And even a bit longer.

It is exciting.

It warms up my thoughts, somewhere it does.

Do you want to look outside the window, see the landscape flying by?

Or look back into my eyes?

I like your eyes.

They are like wounds ripped into your face. There is something inside you.

I like that.

You are my daydream.

Your wounds make you my daydream.

Not just them.

Also your hands.

Those hands.

Those eyes.

I am gonna lean over, let us touch.

Just for a second.

No, longer.

Let me look into them, those wounds. Let me explore them. I might never mend them, but I might see them for real. You can see mine. Just take of this blouse with all the ruffles and you can see the traces this cruel world has left in my skin. Right beneath my breasts ready to feel those wonderful hands. Right there, underneath. There are those violet traces.

Sometimes I think they are pretty.

Just like those eyes of yours.

Thanks for leaning over.

Thanks for touching me.

Thanks for letting me look into you.

The world is still broken.

The world is still burning.

I have to put you on my list.

My list of people.

People that I like.

People that I got close with.

People that I touched.

People that touched me.