Distance

A poem about loving from too far away

sometimes it is like this:

you are in some lovely sun filled place,
and some dead Italian poet
reminds you of the love
you can not touch.

and you long, ache,
reach, for hands
that once touched
your burning skin.

next, was the homecoming
that felt long overdue,
felt dragged
out, by the legs.

then the short lifetime
of anticipation
crumbles, implodes,
dissolves into nothingness.

sometimes it is like this:
there ends with no main event
and it is we,
that break our own
yearning hearts.