tight ass shorts

and decaf coffee

brought aisle 8 to life

loose halter top

compelled to touch

an elbow

she gave me a look

as I mumbled about

caffeine and civets

where was I going

distracted by her

own thoughts

began to wander away

where would she go

i wanted to follow

but instinct held me

back in that

air conditioned reality

that it would be uncool

my basket incomplete

watched as she went

out to a lemon beetle

and left the lot

without a glance

Isolation is not for the idiot,

broken slabs of sorrow

moistened by the rain,

no sign of the suns

needle point breakthrough

a puncture

to a raised palm,

alone disguising himself

in clothes so vanilla plain

he becomes in indistinct,

until another comes

with words used

as a way

to reach ears

not wanting to listen,

and a soft touch

on a fallen shoulder