Love letter # 64

Since you. Most days. I am the near neighbour of melancholy muses. I hear them clearly. Voices in the dwelling of sorrow. Calling out my name. The sirens of improbable distance.

Like today. Sadness descending, sensuous like the humid warmth of a cloudy summer day. The lustrous embrace of separation.

I was in public. I had to bite my lip to keep the flood from showing.

Yet, how beautiful the expanse. How swoonworthy the resonance. This is not pain. Rather, elevation. It is what I have done to replace the brute metrics.

There is no us. No phone calls, no updates, no chance. Just the epiphany of horizons; upon which still dance the vaporous shapes of old flames.

Shall I walk towards you, dying of thirst? As you recede. Or will this ever-stretching space between us be abundant in bloom, nourished by the occasional dislodgement of leftover tears?