I long for the reign of the visual (her first look of the day)
The pitter patter stampede on my conscience
quickly softened with a touch; such is the cotton effect
of her flesh:::
still she isn't here

vile is the curse of distance
the struggle to be close to her::

the want knows
what it's like to be beatified in accession
ingratiated in proximity
inculcated by a smile

when inches feel like miles
continents should be easy
still I panhandle for a word
dumpster-dive for images
Forever searching for you, a salve of perfection, frozen in time

There is an arrogance in the required syllables needed to describe her grace

cdh