I'm glad other people still know how to fall in love.

I'm glad other people still know how to fall in love.
Inside, the spaces, there is a ringing, ringing, coming from
the muscle the sinew the cells. They call it tinnitus. they say that my neurons are misaligned.
Hum a little and your spine will sing. It sings a lullaby and you can sleep
finally, with the empty spaces culled over silent, dampened
by the cotton-soft of lonely,
the congruous stability of being permanently, irrevocably alone.
This is how we are. Flesh slips itself around our edges, defines us deftly,
each from each; each person, a solitary person.
And when we wake in the wash of cloud choked moonlight and
city sounds we know it could never be otherwise. The truth
Is as cold as your second pillow. Or as deep as the six-inch divide
between you and your sleeping lover. So learn your space.
Know your body. Thrust it out, mind first (or pelvis first) into the world.
It will welcome you with teeth or tongue. It will turn you over and spit you out
and, when you return, swallow you again.
It will love you more ravenously than any person could.