No Place That Far

I type away,
cinder-block scratching my knees,
with rum in coke,
on poor typewriter's keys

as a vinyl plays.
You stop looking at that screen
and kiss me between my dimples.

I take another sip and beam,
"We're a new kind of love
stemming from the old kind."

I type drunkenly
and your fingers find
themselves, again, on my face.

I read my latest
as you sit on your bed,
and I curl my toes.

We both survive after I leave.
You and I lied
together that night beneath flannel sheets.

I breathed slowly and cried
mascara stains on your white shoulder.
You presented a silver ring
with a promise of percent.

We slept, and I dreamed
of promise.
I said the words,
"Please know there's no distance too far."