He touches my hand and then his book,
thinking of other things I guess
than of my hand and of his book,
his eyes drifting away. ‘t is fine,
as long as I am at his side, why speak.
why say what’s obvious, why look?
Our boat has stranded on a bank,
we should get dressed maybe,
we need to catch the tide.
I want to feel his skin on mine.
I see the water in the setting sun,
the water’s bleak. Goodbye has just begun.