Saturday, January 27, 2007
famtz(8:01:38 AM): I don't think I'll be able to sleep...don't cry little Rackoy...
rackoy (8:18:36 AM): I'm scared i'll never find my way to you, the road is blocked with infinite obstacles
What is distance,
but a bunch of numbers
that define the space
between us–
The stretch of mileposts
between your eyebrow
and my chin as
I kiss your forehead.
It is the surface area
of triangles made
when I hook my ankles
to the back of your knees.
A Cartesian bed graphing
the arch of my back
whenever I tuck my belly
into your torso.
For distance is nothing,
but a Zeno’s paradox
of infinite points reachable
by hands at the end
of outstretched arms.
