There’s a certain kind of sadness,

Sadness that floats in the absence of matter

The distance between your last layer of skin to mine

Screams desperately to conflate and stop time.

The space between the raptures marks the essence

of what had caused the blocking of our breath

dragging us to perilously experience it again

(although the absence will repeatedly emerge)

That certain kind of sadness,

The sadness sailing within meager distance

Between one enactment and the other

That certain kind of sadness

Longing our transient felicity

Is as inevitable as the depth in which your voice sounds

And the satisfaction of our feet in the same ground.

Yet I look back and grasp that sadness is too motley to define

This certain kind of sadness does not endure through a pure absence of our ease

But in thought that in an instant, despite how endless it feels

there’s a certain kind of sadness that always will appear.