It could almost be mistaken for
being in the same room
as we study the lines on each other's eyes
and sing to each other the harmonies
of pain and lust.
I could have sworn, just the other day
we were using fingertips to study the way
our cheeks rise when we make each other smile
and the creases around our mouths
are heavy with thought.
It's almost as if I'd give anything
to press my forehead against yours
as if to transfer some kind of light between us.
But instead, it seems, I'm doomed to be trapped
in the two hours of space lost to the thousands
of miles from your body to mine.