Dawg

Up in years now 
Am I correct or does the grey belie

And with each passing, Day
You touch me more
You phase me 
Damned you

Touch me less
Take your sixth sense elsewhere

Sixth Sense

The air I finally touched

And found it covered in humanity

Chiseled, curved

Rigid, as it can be, and supple where it should

The air felt broken, but, marked with hope, was actually whole

Smelling of dust from the Day-in-Day-out and the patient, rainless years

I asked it to kiss me nevertheless

I’m glad it did, for I learned

There, on its lips, was the taste of us, each of us

I felt unsurprised