Touch - A Poem

So, I've been writing some poetry. I make no claims as to its quality ;)

Touch

I grab the handrail,

perhaps

to steady myself against the rocking of the train,

so I do not lose my balance.

It is surprisingly cold beneath my fingers,

and I know it will confer

a metallic

tang.

I don’t mind.

Slowly, I edge my hand downward

until my little finger

 is resting

gently

on

his

thumb.

It is surprisingly warm beneath my finger,

and I thrill even at this

slightest

touch.

I glance around, and wonder:

“Is anybody looking?”,

then snake my little finger round his larger one,

and flex,

and I find my balance.

James Croft, July 2010