everyone needs touched

Your skin was perfect,
in spite of so much coffee
(everyone needs touched).

You rescued me from
the moth swarm,
lost in the ring road
around the cerebral palsy
of the spirit.
(then I was discarded,
but that's a different story,
the story of your walking
away).

The way you held
your mouth open, breathing in
the city stalls,
the carnage of your silhoutte,
how it raised eyebrows,
in doubt, appraisal or else,
(yeah, I guess I'll never know),
like the floral patterns
in an old 60s shirt.

Heal me! Heal me!
The soft-spoken words have gone
for ever, phased out
like a product that don't sell.

Your skin was perfect,
in spite of so much coffee,
but I subsequently
failed to find you again
in any given coffee or skin.