Distance Over Time
Part Seven
In the end only the numbers remain. Stubborn tenants in the equivocation of our grief.
Time chokes and wheezes. As we tell our stories in fading orgasms.
I’ve always found you. Through all the years under which time has smothered us. I’ve always kept looking. Long after everything else was gone.
You were my compass.
But love is sometimes a small cut. That scars much too quickly.
We don’t touch only to feel each other. We touch to prove to ourselves something is real. Even if it’s only the things that we can’t keep.
The math isn’t the architect. The years aren’t the proof.
We can keep counting forever and still have nothing.
Our paths spoil. Our machines betray.
Time doesn’t move us. It chases.
But now it's stopped.
Yet I'm still running.