Meter Maid Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I am sensitive
And more-over famished
By a lot of things:

A mobile phone
That sleeps in my pocket
That never rings

or

An old greeting card
From a pale lover
That never
Smelt of love -
Only aged paper.

Two people sitting
On a train
With the tiniest distance
In between while
Conversing

or

Perhaps, two people
Closing in like waves
But not talking
Nor breathing
At all.

Perhaps this is
How things work
Like the two slender
Bodies of the arms
Of the clocks that
Never touch
Each other.

What a mad world,
Even I yield the distances
Of these
Lonely things.