Once I lived for your touch. 
Like a pain patch, I glued you to my wrist 
even when I traveled, in my thoughts, 
at least, you came with. The art nouveau 
book I bought for you from a street vendor 
in Paris. The yuck cream of durian 
I tasted in Sydney. But then you ran 
so far from me, I had to cauterize 
the nerve endings between us. 
Now if we connect at all, 
it’s by text, a link so weak 
I wait days to learn 
you’re not dead. 

tag 
you touched me 
I was out 

Bio: Carla Schwartz