Feelings

You have no etiquette
No frown lines
And no tears
Streaming down
Your
Beautiful
Face.

I hear
The inside of
Your lungs
And they're screaming
To be left alone,
To let go,
To escape.

I see
The first
smile line
Being born
On the face
Of a newborn child.

I smell
Unwashed bodies
Crammed into a box
On wheels, turning around
Along infinite roads
Of desire and destination.

I feel
The tips of your
Learned fingertips
Tracing down
And twirling around
The crevasses
Of my empty hands.

I speak,
Or at least I try.
I cannot speak,
All I can do is move
An inch farther away
From familiarity.