Long Distance

Hygroscopic, you absorb
These aqueous protrusions,
This grief
In the exact instant
Of publication
And if pearls
You’d be a wealthy man
For so many tears
Have I delivered
To your care.
You are a voice,
A trail of ink,
A candid film
But you are not mine,
Fully.

 

I paint the moon over
Every window,
Her surface has no seams
No matter the distance
Between us she is there
A silver knob, beckoning
But I cannot open the door
Our lives scarcely connect
And she endures it
Without knowing how or why
She must.

 

This love grows dim, uncertain
Withering in isolation
Unalterable distances
These landscapes of flesh,
Marrow-filled structures, rigid.
Incomprehensible
This ambiguity
Strangles us.

 

My lascivious hands
Endeavor to bind you
Insatiably seeking
Your embodied presence
This absence amplifying
Aggrandizing
Gestures of lust
It is only my hands
But they are warmed
With your intentions.

 

These poems seek
To press you close
That we may breathe
For once the same air
A symphony
Between lines of sentiment
These sinful letters
My only means
Of intercourse.

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