condense
harrison abbott
it’s the distance between the congregation of the clouds
and the commencement of the rain
that reminds me we’re untouchable
(particularly by one another).
perhaps unlike the sound of boots on snow
–a crunching, a connecting, a cusp overcome–
or the tongue licking the finger,
the finger flipping the page.
unlike your mum and dad after they renewed their vows
and threw their shoes into the sand, just to dance together.
an entrapment of lithe, lusting limbs
like mating wolves.
i’ve stopped sucking my thumb now; it’s swollen
but the feeling still reminds me of you
and how you asked me (though over the phone)
is this okay?
such moments fragmented across the ocean,
and shoddy mobile static,
they remind me we’re not simply untouchable
but untouched.
Harrison Abbott is a queer, 17-year-old writer from Melbourne, Australia. Who is he? He doesn't know either. For now, he's just an artist perpetually trying to find his way home.
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