Cold Circumstances of Non-Touch

With grey Siamese cat-like eyes
That penetrate the soul,
I walked with her down wet streets
Of friendly drunken bums
And angelic homeless saints
Who knew her name and smiled.

Black lipstick and black beret,
She told me I could stay for the night
In her cemetery room
But she was certain we wouldn’t kiss.

I somehow felt romantic
In these cold circumstances of non-touch,
It made so much sense
In my life of alienation and self-resistance.