From six feet away
Our fingers won’t touch
And your perfume is more lysol than lilac,
You have found new ways
To hide your smile.
But your eyes seem so blue,
Poking out above your surgical mask,
Peeking through the shutters in your bedroom,
Making this more tantric
Than I’d intended,
Standing on the street below.
As the world rages around us,
A tragedy of mistakes taking
Thousands of lives
Just an hour west of here,
But so quiet in these gentle breezes
Waiting for the quarantine to lift.
Wanting to draw you near.
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