Preservation

 You are the spine of my compulsory indifference

Slathering on thick, the ability to last in this devalued world of benign neglect.

The burly ingestion of your purge of words deposit heavy as always, into the investment of US

Growing in value without a single iota of proof that we exist to each other past the tap of a key,

Or the occasional catch of our mixed voices, dipping into real-time, to fill in the instantaneous gaps.

Breathe.

You, 

In.

What might that be like? Catastrophic, perhaps. Though the answer is irrelevant.

The interest does not stem from any actualization, but that it merely exists with minimal effort.

If I never spoke to you again, it would not matter. The case of your existence has been made

Substantiating the worth of your name, etched into many warm corners where solitude stands.

It is a powerful notion to be held and upheld with no intention beyond what we declare.

And 

To have that be

Enough.

And it is, it so is, and will, forever be. From busy, snowy, Southwestern intersections, words poured

Staking internal claims in patterns that we could not have designed any more sturdily in our 'today'.

Whale skulls on abandoned beaches rotting to remind us that from ashes to ashes, and dust to dust

The practicality of your importance in my life is treasured in brutal silence, where we safely roam

Roam and remain tantalizingly provocative in the gap of time between us, feeding inner animals.

Preservation,

Poignantly

Perfected.