Touches

I'll teach you not
to be afraid.
I'll show you
how good
this bad touch feels.

Enslaved

here they stood,
cramped, fearful,
praying for escape.

and it was there
that they sweat,
breaking their backs
to escape
the kick of boots
and a nighttime awakening
that lead to death.

Drifting Apart

You'll forget about me,
and soon
I'll be that misted figure
seen through fog,
the favourite chair
draped in a dusty sheet.