I hate the wedge of time which splits us twain.
An axe which cleaves our love as limb from bole
and leaves me bleeding, sore in heart and soul
Too long it seems until we meet again.
Add distance to that axe for double pain.
The twist of miles which widens wounds, no stroll
for us, but plane or train to make this whole
complete; or yards and minutes drive insane.
Yet here I have within my reach the cure
To blunt the axe and distance shrink to naught
To heal our wounds, bind tight our soul once more.
A phone! eMail! Your text is all I sought
To calm my anxious mind and thus endure
The miles and moments till we tie the knot.