I have been thinking about remote things. I think of a soft body in a cool dress, a summer dress. I have seen you both victorious and defeated. You field of vision is hot white desire. Your house burned down from the intensity. At first the curtains were set to fire and then your couches and chairs. Soon your book shelves were all aglow. In the mornings there is nothing to do but wait. Sitting on the stoop counting the passing cars, I told you that we should end this charade, that we really didn’t have a clue as to what we were doing. We danced to your broken soul and drank a toast for the lonely.