: nine hundred kilometers.
I write you poems made of the words
I wanted you to read like Braille
directly on my lips.
This is the house I live in
with walls painted yellow-absence.
Contrary to what many might think,
it is not easy to find
furniture to go with the dye.
This is my collection of screams.
There are as many as the days
I had to learn without your imaginings
and laughter and words
I would hear from no other soul.
This is a fold in time.
You tell me repeatedly
you cannot be mine.
I bravely hold my position in space
as if this was an argument
I could not lose.