I am here and you are there,
Or there,
Or there,
But almost never
Here.
Your fleeting love, your fading breath
Breathe life into my unhealed, open wound,
And what was feverish is pallid, cool—
Little passion, some sorrow, no hate.
I don’t want anything anymore
But to throw the dirt in
Over what we once had,
Make the sign of the cross,
Touch foreheads, whisper
And let go.
We will remain
One soul,
Separably inseparable.