i couldn't tell you were farther from me when i woke up.
the cityscapes and rivers and hills of my eyelids clung sparingly,
they wouldn't speak the same in the morning light.
i couldn't sprawl against your sleeping hand
so i wrapped mine dreamily in the blankets and thought of home
were miles away, miles away.
i thought of your palms and wrists and soft brown skin.
and how my hands are yours only once removed and younger.
in the rough folds of our fingertips is that same glowing heat
a golden spread that covers me and clothes me cool
like laughter, like honeysuckle crawling up the old maple tree.
i think now that maybe i won't see it bloom this year
that i am far and unhinged
and you are miles away,