clandestine

I got used to you, too much
maybe
the ancient hours graze an all-too
digital face as the seconds
dissipate, in between the dark
of this dingy hotel room
locked inside out, i don’t mind if you
swallowed the key

we are apart
my head rests on a pillow where i
cannot feel your weight, and i
imagine silence that can stretch to a
forever that i do not want to be a part of.
i don’t ever want to listen to just my own
breathing. so i want to take you on my astral
travels, and then some.
never apart, again

i quit being a singular organism
that is merely a part of this throbbing
universe because you are here.
i question a force that is beyond you and i,
when the first cell emerged from solid rock
3.5 billion years ago. if we are all speckles,
you are still slight larger.
i am younger, a mystery to myself while
you know where to land

i got used to you. of course
you are faultless in this endeavour.
i have only myself to blame for trying
to hitchhike onto your orbit
i’m trying to catch up with the miles
you have travelled and when i finally lodge
myself next to you, then maybe we can start
counting the next ten-thousand, or a hundred more.
whatever works

there are no maps to follow
no ‘x’ marks the spot. i am blind on this
journey, so i have only my hands to hold you
until fuel burns out. (oh god, no)
i’ll find a way to survive if dislodged
maybe another lonely planet to venture
and all that’s left would be your form grazing
a half-past midnight shadow of myself,
trying to be alright

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