Through irony of situation,
satire perhaps- we divide.  Born on two planes heading opposite of one another
Five years, fifty thousand kilometres
Between us
Tell me my lovely professor- how are we ever to survive?
Dreaming, with vibrance & intricate process
How must the sun beam through your achromatic curtains
Onto a playground for light to enjoy
The length of your body, must provide exceptional angles
For angels to run and hide
Tiny light beams, scattered
Unattainable, yet so beautiful
Awaking the next morning
You are bathed, in
Glitter or pixie dust?