Tiles
Soaking in cold processed air
Licking with every step
feet bare and made damp
by the mornings dew

gooseflesh marks bare arms
baked from the sun
confused by the rain

mixed signals
from room to room
from out to in
in one moment bright and burning
energetic as the sun
in the next flashed by
new room
new rain

relationships half built
abandoned for the better option
lonely walks
awkward eye contact
misplaced affection
stretched thin and frayed

The gecko
stuck behind a glass door
is a better friend
a warmer soul
a more significant heat
sharing my own space

I orientate myself
from one room to another
different worlds cramped
on a single plot of land

Reason tells me I am not alone
the full bed sharing
my cold and processed space
says 'there are others like you'
but full fields I cannot open
full rooms I pass through
as a ghost through a wall
call 'you are lonely'
and there is no one
(but myself)
to blame