1030

Every day I feel far
outside this typing box
and yet I'm bound to it;
to express within it
(inquire within to do me
justice)
Required--without proximity--
are the words that only finger tips
[not keys]
can accurately depict.

Every day I hate
      Derrida
(at least, on those days
I feel he's right)
But even I know the solace
in the languid fawns of love's beginning
(not to diminish this
sordid space, for there is
nothing to ease the burn of
longing).