there are lines that can not be crossed to trace
some paths, parallel fingers flow along
the curve of an eyebrow, through the temple
and around the ear to be joined by the rest of the hand
finally resting on the nape of your neck. I can not leave my
bunker to cross the dmz. Some treaties can't be broken.
there is sadness in a glance, that brief second
when eyes meet. I know I will never feel the fine hair
that grows on the plain of your stomach, feel the breath swell
inside of you and then retreat. The geography of desire
is proof of loneliness. Propriety demands vast distances
.
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