I have been gone so long
redirecting mundane priorities
inside an endless vacuum
to a quiet place upstairs
where injured lovers solemnly embrace
for the first or last time
Conversations spring forth
with the absence of sweaty palms
or the tap dancing of virgin feet
that lovely state in which I contemplate
the possibility of being rescued myself
no longer the wintering tragedies of
every movement of my heart resonates
and then collapses into another
just because it can.
But what does this all really mean,
occupying nonsensical fantasy?
It brings laughter and inspiration
for the loneliest form of communication
Because with nothing left to be
nothing else is important to me.