What we do
Why do we do this to ourselves?
Tonight, I will make my way to you again.
All night we will talk & drink wine, while outside twilight will silently deny colour to the flowers of your garden.
Inside, we’ll remain ignorant of all this save for some ineffable sense of absence,
as we talk & laugh. drink wine & then, perhaps, we’ll fuck.
It’ll be fun but through it all, a loneliness will prevail:
The distance between us is too vast to measure, & we know that it won’t last forever.
Why do we do this to each other?