Togetherness

there must be a world of lost things
in which a glove, forgotten in a hurry,
becomes friends with an old newspaper,
a scarf, a handkerchief or a comb.

the glove does not miss the hand anymore,
the handkerchief doesn't need tears nor snot,
even the scarf doesn't care for the warmth
of mothers and nursemaids.

all that is lost, is together,
but tenderness is getting redundant,
goose bumps are willing to be found,
the first wet dream, your funniest lover,

the toys of a kid that died.
and the presumption that we can forget everything,
although you, lost as a human,
have to be alone in the universe.