A touch, a glimpse into the feel.

Not bound by physics and math,

But made of something more real.
A barb, a hook, a skewer. A snare

That catches that lump in your heart

And pulls it onto your shoulders, to bare.
Something caught in your eye?

“I remember him, but never met him.”

Clear your throat, straighten your tie.
Or maybe, you met him but never knew;

And the writer showed his face.

Now that lump isn’t so new,

Isn’t so out of place.