It is me, not you

By the tightness of my chest

I feel the embrace

From far away

By the prickling of my fingers

I feel the the softness

Static sparkling

By the tingling of my lips

I feel the blood

Rushing to meet

As we never do

The next room could be

Timbuktu

By the lighting up of the phone

I feel your voice

Caring even if the words do not

To have and to hold

By distance foretold

By the leaning of my desire

I know your heart

To ask for more

Unnecessary, true.

By the seeking of mine

I know

I know it is me, not you.

(c) meetawsengupta

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