# #distance

7 poems

## [AS 21](https://chromato.graphics/as21)

if you’re hearing this,  
it’s ’cause i trust you.  
there’s a lot of detail,  
high resolution scans.

i take an early flight.  
nothing good is easy.  
_what am i forgetting?_  
chocolate orange peels.

i program on the airplane  
to distract from humming  
in my eardrums; an engine  
whirring to life in my chest.

she applies the night before  
risks her body just for more.  
she knows she has to see it  
before i remember my face.

jetway’s made of glass,  
eyes have steel blades.  
_what am i forgetting?_  
54-inch red shoelace.

_“do you want to get the  
fuck out of this airport?”_  
she picks up both bags  
before i can say a word.

she borrows a tapedeck.  
i hold her knee. _is this ok?_  
the postal service can’t  
ship this in a flat rate box.

distance desires ritual  
we find a matchbook  
_what am i forgetting?_  
ashen coffee. burning.

the next thing i know  
we’re at the terminal.  
lipstick can stain more  
than cardboard cups

**time stopped in total:**  
14 hours, 28 minutes

## [eigengrau](https://chromato.graphics/eigengrau)

the only way to ignore  
the sunrise is to close  
our eyes at daybreak

white light pours through  
delicate curtain lace—  
an unseen ocean roiling

more to see and to say  
as blue waves beckon,  
calling toward tomorrow

but no matter what we try,  
there’s no true darkness.  
light seeps in everywhere

the shade we find there  
feels almost ultraviolet;  
we see it together, apart

in separate beds, rooms  
on opposed coasts, we  
conjure the same cosmos

this color could be our own.  
when other lovers see it too,  
do they know we bathe in it?

## [108ºC](https://chromato.graphics/108c)

sunny side up eggs  
cook with sunshine  
denaturation begs,  
bonds across time

waveformed Q train  
park date prospects  
PascalCase names  
everywhere object

polycarbonate layers  
exposed gold livewire  
angel of gay prayers  
film stock, unexpired

bumblebee chapstick  
seeing in rainbows  
jet turbine fuel drips  
one port won’t close

## [nude](https://chromato.graphics/nude)

back then, i saw your body just on screens —  
pinpricks of light transferred across the line.  
soft curves and folds, i felt you in my dreams;  
those pictures, now, are burned into my mind.

and then i touched your silken skin at last,  
traced these lines with red ink until they dripped,  
gripped thighs while kissing slow, then hard & fast,  
embraced to warm the places we had stripped.

but now i’m separated from your touch,  
yearning for the ways we fit, like jigsaw  
pieces you never need to force too much.  
despite it all : _i’m here. i won’t withdraw._

you’re nude before my eyes, no matter where.  
i’ll drink you up and leave them none to spare.

## [a⸺part](https://chromato.graphics/apart)

thin string between us  
stretching miles  
connecting our chests

  
tension we can sense  
tugging twine  
winding over land  


we set it aside  
knotted tight  
when we’re together

  
the rope uniting us  
untying now  
because we’re home  


  
we don’t need help  
to touch  
when we’re here  


## [bioavailable](https://chromato.graphics/bioavailable)

there’s always a question  
when i come into contact  
with the substance of you.

how much of you can i absorb?  
when you enter my bloodstream,  
swim my veins where they lead.

the longer your half-life,  
the more i’ll feel you there,  
coursing through my core.

the closer your shape  
gets to nature, the better  
i can fully take you in.

drink you or swallow you  
or let you dissolve under  
my tongue every day as

you transform me with  
area under your curves.  
when is my next dose?

## [atlantic<br>  pacific](https://chromato.graphics/atlantic-pacific)

i often wake three hours before  
your sunrise calls for a response  
logbook already soaked with ink  
we laugh, but even if we could,  
_why constrain our outporings?_

one winter day you ask for  
notes on undersea strings  
aware of both the timbre  
and tempo of these songs  
we start singing together

i fall into an evening rhythm  
talking and yes moaning into  
the phonograph, my head then  
swallowed by the brassy cone  
our voices sound better inside

when you open your ears again  
there’s so much weather to hear :  
wind and rain and quiet calm that  
lasts too long and means too much  
we keep sailing even without a map

true, land divides us more than sea,  
but these two coasts call to us both  
maybe it’s the sirens or the sounds  
of wavecrash against the shore —  
the dangers of unfathomed depths