what started as a touch,
became a stranglehold.
a distorted reality on the opposing side
of a clouded shield.
stripped of inhibitions,
and covered in loneliness.
a gentle graze, an eager smile,
and two glasses of deception
were the ingredients to a recipe
for sweet catastrophe.
as smooth as sandpaper,
contact would inevitably wear down
the other surface
to be as fine as sands of an hourglass
draining until the glass is empty.