A Long Way Back Home
I compared the miles of her train-ride
With the words we used
To explain our madness.
A relative notion
(As my tongue
Screamed into the receiver)
To the passion
In my volume.
Please ignore the voice.”
I asked her
To pretend like my touch
Is a tattoo.
A permanent narration of memory.
Inked into flesh.
Much like how saliva dries
On our lips
After we kiss.
I’ll keep them moist
She’s coming home.
A.j. Binash's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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