And we make grand gestures like it matters,
Like we are more than matter and if I tell you the same
Cockneyed stories over and over this time in the morning you will
Stay. Or the distance will become a nonexistent blimp on the surface of our
Own existence, I will exist within you, if I make grand gestures:
This will matter.
The overbearing distance between our physical bodies but our celestial minds.
I want to be real. I want to be real with you, be real with me,
Tell me the truth but tell me lies too,
Make me regret telling everyone who asks that the key is communication.
Is it communication or looking at someone
Someone bleeding on the ground, and still finding them fuckable,
As if Fuckability matters, as if Fuckability for fools is more than a need to
Touch base and touch **** like the world depends on it,
Like it is December Twenty First and the world is ending,
And we are millions of miles apart, and millions of words apart,
And nothing I have said yet can convince you or me that we are people who matter.
We matter to each other and it is scary to not know the confines of someone’s mind, wherein I float, wherein I remain stagnant as an F word,
Wherein I play charades to convince myself I am more than the men in my life.
I am Goodnight and Good Morning and please send me one more shred of light to hang on to, please give me the time of day, please let our states become one mass of existence, please make me Matter.