Disclaimer: I do not own the man I am attempting to portray.

<fortuita@hotmail.com> for feedback.

A Last Fraction of Space
By Fortuita James

So when your slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with headaches, or the want of rhime)
Stands in the street, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you
	From Epistle to a Young Lady, Alexander Pope

Orbiting me, you don't understand you also anchor me. How many times, 
reaching out, losing myself in the breadth of my perception, have you 
brought me back?
  Your heartbeat, holding, racing, near, more far. And I need that. It 
draws a fine line around me. 
  But when I'm centred, not so desperate, that's when I feel it most. 
Need of you. 
  So I distance myself, or try to. A joke, a tease, mostly physical 
space, something I dislike. To contain myself, stop my mind and body 
from seeking entanglement. The urge to be knotted, drawn tight with 
you is strong. It overpowers me, sometimes, and I can do naught but 
wait for your return. The half-appeasement of your presence. Enough to 
stave off the hunger, but not enough to sate it. 
  But you give me so much, I can't ask for more. So only in silence do 
you take me, in the spaces of my mind.

***