the earth is as hollow
as every half whispered
prayer to the emptiness
above.

the earth is as flat
as every half returned
affection from the nothing
inside.

the earth simply wobbles
in the wake of missed
connections static in the
malaise.

each morning i seek to
reconfigure the globe
in a way that brings you
nearer to me, doing my best
to disassemble reality to
fit the mold more suited for
happily ever afters in the
face of hearttremors drawn
in calamitous hues.

the earth is an illusion
a hologram projected over
the great expanse between
her soul and mine

and i have had quite enough