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.