streetlight by streetlight the length between us grows.
every handshake, every side glance, another block.
you and i are miles apart in this city.

i am barefoot in the kitchen, coffee, hot and bittersweet,
the dregs sliding down the mug toward your lips
where you, in the living room, ignoring me, are feet up
and waiting for comfort and service and quiet. (when will
this shit find equilibrium, fuck) -- (you are
so eloquent) --

i am in bed after you've left, knees up, praying
that i am not barren. i have never hated you more.

years ago we laid in a baseball diamond under
a heated fog sky, you laughed at me, you reached for my
legs and hips. years ago there were long trips
in unstable cars, apartments dim in moonlight,
thin walls and neighboring conflicts. years ago
there was pressure, assurance, desire, the weight of our unborn
pressed into the pit of my stomach.

yellow globe by yellow globe i traverse this city.
you stopped waiting for me, and started standing still.