I compared the miles of her train-ride
With the words we used
To explain our madness.
Proposed
A relative notion
(As my tongue
Screamed into the receiver)
“Pay attention
To the passion
Used
In my volume.
Please ignore the voice.”
I asked her
To pretend like my touch
Is a tattoo.
A permanent narration of memory.
Inked into flesh.
Much like how saliva dries
On our lips
After we kiss.
I’ll keep them moist
Pretending like
She’s coming home.
A.j. Binash
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-long-way-back-home/
