Let me tell you what I know;
since that day, my heart beats
in syncopation with yours.
Any distance between us
is distance that muffles my heart;
our sin sealing my bond to you.
My mistake - thinking this trembling
a synonym of lust.
A curious cyanide process*,
extracting faithfulness from cynicism.
Perhaps it was an ill-timed synapse
throwing me from my center,
throwing me in synchronicity to your orbit,
burning as I spin
like the suns in Constellation Centaurus.
Perhaps it is my soul beating inside,
in sympathy to my heart,
that has built a synagogue of yearning -
of yearning for your exposed soul.
*cyanide process = a metallurgical technique for extracting gold from low-grade ore.