Our connection has always been
missed in a different way
than any website is intended for.
The universe endlessly thwarts
any possibility of our being plural.
I long and I hope.
I pine for more
than noncommittal communication
borne of lust and exhaustion.
Shared sentiments
that can withstand
the reason of daylight.
Ours is a road too often travelled
to places I am growing weary of regretting.
It is littered with potholes and oil slicks
remnants of emergency flares.
Reminders of the misfortune incurred.
I’m finding a new route.
It will be packed dirt dappled with sun,
seething with the hum
of nature and the thrill
of imminent adventure.
Fresh and new.
Free of shame.