Come unto me once more,
read poetry in our laps until we have both fallen asleep.
The hum of flowery language on the tongue
the feeling of fear in our chests
the blatant avoidance in breathing that slows
to a rest.
The terror in wonder of
what are we doing?
What will we do?
In the end.
The end being a few short days away,
after comfort has seeped into our bones
the feeling of your skin pressed against mine almost becomes normalcy.
I wish
I wish the end didn't come
the way a child clings to the safety of young
but the inevitability of time
that brings trains and coffee in the rain and trying not to cry on the way home
is a cruel reminder that time is not a concept,
but a reality.
Writing letters in the mist of bus windows,
once more
I let the condensation leak into my heart,
the droplets frozen in january air.
They'll remain, solidified
serving to leave me blind
until I see you again.
And then, they'll fall.
Once more,
water down the windows.
Once more,
kiss your cheeks
the disappearance of past weeks
and condensation
and contrived nonchalance,
souvenirs of distance washed away
once more.
Once more we'll lie in each others laps with the honesty of poetry in the air
in your stare,
in the non-existent space
between us.