Two far apart

She strokes at her throat,
the touch of his love,
and dreams of his hands on her body
with caresses and kisses and
whispered sweet nothings
and goosebumps of passion
imagined.

She is writing to him
and the words are so real
that she feels him inside
and she lets out a squeal
with a shudders a feeling so deep
and wanting to keep
an escape from the direness of
this winter.

He’s off far away,
fighting today?
Risking his life?
Who knows but it’s likely.
She hopes he is safe –
she has planned her escape
abandoning her bigoted husband.

He’s so foreign and different
and odd, but so nice
with those eyes like green ice
and his smile which beams
at the camera,
and his voice, and that accent
and the pictures (he’s naked)
and the thrill of the calls at
her lunchtime.

She wakes extra early to match
his time zone
and sends photos of snow on her car
and he religously checks
all his emails and texts
no matter where fate sends his fortunes.

It’s a cruel twist of fate
that the seas part their ways
and she lies lusting for him
as he sighs, so deeply for her
because together, you know, they’d be perfect.

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