The disconnect is tangible.
Spanning entire rooms
the breadth and weight of it
floating across the pillows,
and trailing through your fingertips
across my spine
resting heavy in the dullness of your glance.

Even still
I listen for the waves lapping at the sand
miles away from this rickety old chair
and watch the smoke rise, twirl, and disappear
like ghostly traces of time well spent.
It’s really all I can do these days to smile,
hoping my ankles still know how to stand
when the hourglass is turned.


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