When I do sleep

Now our worlds play catch up.

But this emerald isle will not catch up with your southern hemisphere Africa 

It can try, and it will try, even when the clock springs forward it will still fall short.

So our confused synchronisation will continue to roll out unevenly across mountains and oceans  and mountains and oceans.

Magnetically I am pulled towards you, but my roots, entangled, hold me down tighter than ever, so often I look up. 

Constellations whisper down at me, gently reminding me that we share a sky. 

For now, I will exist, and tick off counted sunrises and sunsets, with a heavy hole in my chest.

Those bright red numbers flash on into the loneliest hours, I toss, and turn, searching hopelessly for some sort of release. 

And when I do sleep, I see your eyes, but never your face.

When I do sleep, I hear your voice, but never your words.

When I do sleep, you are beside me, but I cannot touch.

When I do sleep, the distance closes by a mere fraction, but doesn’t end.