This inhuman need
for people washed away
by words and vanity.
Threads worn thin
against the curve of continents
and breadth of borders.
That which I expect; notions of intimacy
torn apart by surprised thoughts,
beyond my control, beyond your sentiment.
Slowly, a sweeping emptiness,
black like the kohl in her eyes,
begins to settle in the space
left vacant by a departed love and longing.
In the space
between your fingers
a silence sleeping.
The interplay of roving fingertips
awakened hesitant speech
and, now, the frost lines along my eyes
and inside my heart, marked by the long freeze, melt.