Separation—
Circumstance builds the wall
without consent,
a cold monument built by fate.
Is time punishing, or is it not?
The past? The now? It grows
each day remaining separated.
I endeavor to cloak the wall with night-blooming jasmine
so I can smell a distant shadow
deep into the Bewitching Hour,
when the wall doesn’t seem so imposing,
when communication flows without restraint,
when unbound lust blossoms, wafting beyond confinement,
lost in a ghostly embrace
behind the wall.
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