if it's really dark, you may feel my arm
but will you know my face, whether smiling
or scrunched up to restrain crying.
how could you know when I do not know
myself, only finding out behind drawn shades
and after the streetlight has stopped flickering,
descending to darkness.
you will not know if I am with you, nor
will I know if you are with me, or
off to other lands where lovers stare
in each others' eyes across a small table,
or where nomads trap vultures with nets.
Perhaps I am shopping for a cashmere sweater
and you are pondering tent designs that will
not blow away in the wind.
are you with me in this darkness?
I can reach across and touch your face,
feel your lips press against my fingertips.
Come home, be with me in this darkness.
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