Press your finger tips against mine
(You see in ways I cannot fathom)
Though they will never be close enough
To truly touch,

For between the fibers of your skin and mine
Grows a thickening membrane
Of impenetrable strength and power
Of keeping your world just so slightly different
From mine,

            so I can weep in waves of rapture
And yet you feel none of it.

The worlds we separately inhabit
(So linear, but unable to intersect)
Are near enough to interact
And allow our eyes to covet
That which we cannot reach or understand.

(But what are you, if not my reflection?)

If only I could breech this disconnect,
I would pull you in, and edify your soul
With the way in which my eyes do see thee,
And the way that I do love thee.
And perhaps
                  you would love me too.


Mais non, c’est impossible.