Soul Mates
like the man stranded
on a deserted island
laughing
while thirsting
at his ironic situation
so I stare into the sea of faces
and think
people, people everywhere
but not a soul to speak
their words fly
past me
I am uninvited
their eyes search
over my shoulder
even the deeper glances zone
out of focus
and we remain acquaintances
or worse, lovers
this innate sense
of connection
is clothed in its burial shroud
age tends to cover
instincts
with well-wrought lessons
the fine thank you okay doing well going good eh alright
I’ll swallow these pleasantries
and hope remains an aftertaste
that I have a soul mate
who might listen
to every word
