Everything trills with a violent echo,
all the unspoken honesty between us cracks
- shatters -
like glass hitting pavement in slow motion.
When did this disconnect sever us?

I used to feel your fingertips against mine
regardless of distance, of time, of red wine, of
I can feel the mountains and valleys
of my fingerprints, now empty.

The marrow in my bones has
run away from home
and I'd bet my soul, wager my heart,
that it's tracking you.

Because there is no distance I can stand
between our hands, between my pulse and
your pulse;
and these bed sheets, these bedfellows, these
embedded confessions aren't mollifying anything.

The nights are ceaseless without you,
I remember when they weren't long enough. 

The End

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