Long Distance

surrounded by
electronic susurrations

we talk

whispering sweet
love and raging passion

encased in organic curves
customized Apollos

fondled so readily
(so handily)

screaming bloody
damnation and murder

thrown every which way
emotion converted to electron
and back

debating infinite
degrees of gray

art transformed to math
summed back into art

multiplied by
a billion perspectives

divided by
our polarities

subtracted by
our differences

in the end,
at the end
of it all

everything
(yes everything)
fades to white

when i finally

hold your hand.

by Fernando Ayala

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