Distance and Lovers

In this moment,
you and I are cities,
vessels of longing
and fuming passions.
In this moment,
I am counting
the minutes to your next phone call,
the hours to your mellow refrains,
and the days to our meeting as lovers.


I’ve forgotten how long we shook hands
that day.
I’ve forgotten if I’d turned around
to look back while
you walked away.


All these months later,
I have you and you have me
and yet,
there is no us.
Every night
my ache flies two thousand miles
over to you
and snuggles at your breast.


I look at the summer we have in front of us
how a child awaits his favourite festival.
I miss you to my bones
and imagine holding you close
and each time,
I lose a little of myself
in the rigidity of our distance,
in the surety of it.


I tell you I love you
through waves and signals
and transmissions and protocols:
everything that reminds me of how far you are,
everything that brings us closer anyway.


We ask ourselves
if we’d survive
these days of mindless rush
and the nights of inadequate words
when the only thing we want
is the heat of our bodies
seeping into each other
and the frenzy of our tongues
making love.


Yes, I am greedy.
Yes, I want more.
Yes, I feel lonely without
the ache of missing you too much.


Maybe this earth is too large a battlefield
for lovers like us
and maybe
our want isn’t real enough to matter.


Or maybe,
this want is all that we need
to drive us both on a collision course
that saves much more than it wrecks.


Either way,
I love you.
I love you.


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