It’s cold in here.
Dingy too.
       Like it must be
       where you are now.

As I stand here with the colonels
finest to keep me company, I know
that your heart is breaking.
       Again.

All I have are parentheses and periods to
try and glue your broken pieces together.
An ineffectual abuse of punctuation;
my war cry against the tyranny of
the distance between us.

Sitting on blue vinyl,
listening to the clickity clack,
I know I shall soon be out of the tunnel
looking over the city as it curls up to sleep.

I wish that you could escape your tunnel this night
and roll over, smiling contentedly to yourself
as you leave this day,
       eagerly awaiting tomorrow.