Static

The things you touch bear an electric charge;
They shock me when I take them from your hand.
The tingle isn't really very large,
It's just enough to notice. When I stand
Beside you, I can feel a crackle in
The air that orbits you and touches me;
Sometimes I even know where you have been
Because I feel the electricity.
Some say you wear your clothes in layers
That rub against each other, and so serve
As generators, and indeed conveyors
Of real discharges. But I'll never swerve
From claiming that you have a spark about you
That your clothes do not feel when they're without you.