A breath of
a i
r
is wasted when someone
reminds me how
far away
you are to me because like age
distance is just
a number and holds no other value than that
of itself so
the sloshing ocean,
the miles of road,
the strips of people,
do nothing to erode your something
to me and my something
to you, in fact
the musicality we share shimmies
back and forth as
your free range hair flaps
underneath
a different colored sky
whistling but not yearning for my
shoulder to rest upon
since our something out of nothing
is inescapable and never
out of reach.
