Friction

The flour bag is paper-thin.

I saw the hair upon your skin.

I nearly touched your hand, and then

I looked the other way.

My sleeve is made of polyester.

The silence starts to burn and fester.

A sudden snap, a blue-white tester

of what it's like to feel.

The spark jumped out between the cuffs.

The grocery floor is hard and rough.

I haven't had quite near enough

of anyone today.