Dysfunction: In a hearbeat.

Through a space devoid of light, through a silence thick as fog

and a chasm that in memories and years expands as far

as the distance between these words and each breath you draw tonight,

I reach you.

Without words to use as constructs for the rush and force of instinct

that the blood inside me tries to pump out of my conscious mind,

I send you a simple message, without form and without structure,

that I know will get there faster than even the speed of light.

For it is my sheer conviction

in that pure reflexive property of love that I believe in, that makes me not hope but *know*

that this wordless, formless message reaches you before it leaves me every instant I exist.

And no matter how I try to sit here feeling like an ape,

trying to explain the process by which we communicate,

only you and I know the level of approximation I can reach with prose and wit,

and how though a valiant effort,

it’s not even in close quarters to the truth that springs forthwith.

From your mind to mine and sparked from my skin to yours,

a reality is born unlike the harsh crude surface of a world in flames,

a construct built on the better pieces of myself,

resonating within you in a beautiful symphony that could drown the noise of doubt

and end the disquiet in my soul I once thought to be inherent.

Such is the lesson I’ve learned from looking at the surface of your calm blue sea.

Dysfunction