Your shitty hand-holds seem some
Unreal thing that I once knew
And the way we sat with the world
Between our crossed legs
And ate and smiled.

One week here and there
Might seem insignificant for one
Unaware
Of how I keep time.

Some great chance to connect with
A relative, bald and blind.

You could say I'm trying
At least I'm not crying
When his head turns
And I'm not given the choice
To reciprocate.