Distance

Late night lonliness projected onto paper

I'm lying here,
it's late.
I can hear the wind howling outside my window.
It sounds cold--
but I feel colder.
You're not here to warm me
and I cannot feel your lips brush mine
or look into your eyes
I cannot feel your hand on mine
or listen to your heartbeat
I cannot feel you...
I whisper alone to the tortured wind,
"I feel your torment,
I, like you, am empty"
So I'll close my eyes and sleep,
wrapped in the cold crying
of the whistling wind--
Only to dream of you
until the hasty morning wakes me
just before we touch...