high flying poetry

i'm jet lagging badly, and coincidentally in time for the liverpool-chelsea match.. dun wanna post too much on the trip cause i wanna watch the match haha, so here's something i wrote on my flight back from SF.

Touch.
The desire for contact
to know, you are with me
even if it's merely a gentle brush,
like the feeling you get, of a glass slipping through your fingers.
And as the contact disappears,
our tiny world ceases to exit,
as does the glass which proceeds to shatter.
And you fade into the distance, once again.