Space

The space between us is real.
A bag in between,
a purse,
a pillow,
thick, suffocating, air…
As if skin touching was such an offense.
As if minds meeting were so taboo.
Always preoccupied with something else,
That being with me, loving me, becomes an after thought.
The space between us is real.
And it seems, I, am not.

2011 (c) Vida Antoniette M. Cuaresma