Covid-ex-aisles

Skin.
I miss skin.
Send me some?
But could a flake of dandruff —
anything dead —
conjure your     elastic finery?

Smell.
I miss smell.
Send me your shirt,
like I asked you before. Those
strangers who pass, whose sweat was some help
walk far away now.

And hugs.
I miss hugs.
That circle, your waist!
Not even my mother —
even she —
won’t hug me now!

Confidence.
I miss that.
We’re each now alone
on a worry isle
generations, chained
by earlier error.

And sleep.
Unbroken sleep.
I miss that.
The sleep of the good, the honest, the kind —
When??
When did I become this      demon?

And aisles. Yes.
Aeroplane aisles.
Send me one, please.
I could walk up and down
like I’m travelling —
and you’re     at the end.