there's something about
the way a cat's whiskers
brush the back of my neck
that reminds me of
honeysuckle mornings and your arms.

note to self:
tracy chapman's voice,
will always get my soul.
we will destroy ourselves if we don't agree.

i heard once that if
you couldn't hear my heartbeat,
it meant i was too far.

now--
i realize if i can't hear yours,
feel yours, breathe to the tone of yours,
there is no rest.
little life.
little light.

i guess it is as death cab says---
i need you so much closer.
than down the street.