Thirty six bus bound hours
through the Andes
felt like a mere day and a half
pressed next to you

my hands
fighting fidgets
restrained on the arm rest
or policing my lap

when all I wanted was to stretch out
and touch you
to cure my cramp
then fall in love

the shout
of a word weaving finger
changed
everything

my lens flicked
floorwards
an instant blur to a blind sift
of the detritus sluicing there

our tentative touches
trailed over unseen
trinkets, their Braille bumps
spelling lost

still we searched
corn cob here, tissue knot there
melted ice cream between
hairy, sticky, boiled sweets

trawling once more against the bus judder
a bottle top crinkle wheeled your palm
a sliver of sight
in its spongy heart

divorced from adhesive filth
my liberated vision
took you in,
slumber steeped

on my shoulder,
the first hummingbird hover of love
thudding reflections,
searching for an open window.