They are listening at doors—
And clutching to sills to peer and peek—
To see our faces and hear our words
Because we walk straight and alone,
Together but not touching.
But they cannot hear it, and they can’t see it.
Our words are our glances,
The faux accidentalism of our touches.
We are deliberate and careful.
We are the murmurs that do not escape the cracks of doors.
We are the long glances that dive down to simply touch
That place that was cold and hard, and make it warm again.
We are not lovers.
No, we are not lovers.
But still, they look and listen.
As we pass their eyes follow us and something stirs in them
And they know—
It is a sign.
-Kaitlyn Medina [5/16/10]