the same as clapping hands

so often, the difference between us is more
than time-travel
the size of our hearts is always proportionate to the
size of the heartache we've survived
the same as we act now
the same, we've always been so clear
about things, so hasty in our decisions
and how many went bad
because of it?

the turning of the earth spreads our name
into the sand, and beaches leave us
waiting, wanting
sad eyes focused on careful finger motions
how far my hands can penetrate into you
how soon the night will end
(the night will never end)

maybe that's why, so often
the difference between us is
that of miles
rather than inches,
that of holocausts and love-making
splitting hairs never got us anywhere
but here, and really,
what good is that?
what good is that?

but if one day
late in the winter night
i press my frosted breath against your neck
and simmer with a smile that says:
i still need you like i did
and maybe, for an instant
i'll even mean it
(i can make holy text of lies i tell myself)
and then we'll just fold across
each other like it matters
so much to sigh softly
run my fingers across the goosebumps
the cold nights leave behind for you to keep
for you to hold onto
the way we held onto each other
the way we tried
to keep meaning it when we touched...

2004-06-11 | 12:50 a.m.
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