Tiny space

That space
between us
which marks
our death
can be reached
at two in the morning
in my dream
your lips pressed up
against my ear
my every nerve
feeling you inside of me
my body knew yours
my eyes never opened
but my heart did
and in the morning
my soul felt yours
even if my eyes
never saw
your shade of blue.

It is my brilliant friend
who hears my hopelessness
and misunderstands my poems
my romance
for a love story
I have not written yet.
Toss and turn
sleep in cars
roll down the window
in -35 Montreal cold
and feel something
anything
but this
emptiness
the cold within
meets the out
and blends in perfect
dark roast
one cream
one sugar
One love.

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