loving you is being naked
except  m y  transgressions
are written into the sinews
in my muscle, braided into
my hair and mingling with
my blood. For that, loving
you is a vacuum, loving
you is a room filled with
widening spaces until I
am nothing more than
a wick burning from
both                   ends,
l o v i n g   y o u
is a tragedy in parts,
alone in a wheat field,
alone in a school hall
alone in a coffee shop
loving you is being
alone.