“How close,” I queried “do you want to be?”
Then “Close,” he whispered. “Close is very nice.”
He gave his answer bland, emphatically,
and I asked, “What means close and at what price?”
He countered, “Do you want to talk some more?”
but I released him to deserved repose
and put it in my basement to explore
the signals carried in the words he chose.

If close means sharing everything we do,
constricting two-ness in a single space,
esteeming us ahead of me and you
and having your old baggage in my face,
then, thank you, no, I’d rather be apart,
for close is never foremost in my heart.