what are we doing?
caught in the land of make-believe, in between the black and white,
drifting in the pool of gray, graying…
more nothings than
lasting moments after the exasperation of our sweat soaked bodies
entwined in lines of linen…
silent kisses though we’re far off in the distance, away from what use to be…
burrowing tunnels, looking for distractions,
to wipe away my mirror of dissatisfaction.
you stay content with your silence all the while you build a wall beside me
how many feet above,
my once Pyramus building pyramids away from this,
your former Thisbe who no longer stands beside waiting on your voice.
All has become quiet on the western front.
i’m no longer certain anymore of what we are or what we have become.
two drones seeking a means to become real, to feel once more.
or two halves of a heart, pulling steadily apart.
Floating in reveries
of what use to be…
what are we?