The Soft Parts of My Body

If a soft part of my body bumped against you, 
would you pretend it did not?
You would. 

I am aware that a woman is petting the nape of a gentleman's neck
in transit as if to say, this is my man. He leans slightly away. 

I protect the soft parts of my body by leaning away. 
When I lean against the sliding doors
I think for the second time that if something went wrong I could die. 
At least 50 people died in contact with a train in 2015. 
This is an outrage but I don't let it in. 

I am stunned at the ashy kids selling Welches grape fruit snacks
because they are so young, except they aren't. 
Then I realize that the crevices of my hands are also ashen except not so young. 

I am aware that I have been holding my breath. 
Like an invader were to unfold in the afros fur coats puffer jackets silken weave city flesh and stenciled tote bags. 
Then advance in worn eye dimples piss on coats wafting takeout in mouth. 
Then scratch away my borderless body and my little mind
while the softness of my body grows and grows.