Counting one two three four the space
between the blank of thunder and sight
of lightning illuminating the blinds I know
I measure love in the proximity we sleep
together, warm on warm. The last one,
I couldn’t place myself all those three A.M.
hours, humming nights of acid rain, bones
on the window tapping on the wind. Bone
to bone I’m wrapped inside you solid.
Water to water there’s a lake waiting
to wash over this black bed, two
bodies to be separated. What we have is
distance– right now we don’t have that.

(originally published in Ariel Chart, Winter 2021)