Distant lovers, they suffer
Away from each other, they muster up
All their pain to overcome, from
The other side of the world, they
Distort really to endure, before
Every night grows old, and
They can’t do much for this, so
They write poems, above
All they nurtured is afar, when?
Did we lose all sense for the abstract? If
They can’t recall how they are, in fact
No, they can’t, so far…
No to time, no joke, just
Stay on track, now
Look at the sky, and
She will be looking, too.