Distance has a very intimate relation with wandering,
It creates sand dunes inside your studio apartment, and makes you ramble with it.
When you are undressing your girl with the godspeed of a folk tune,
you see those dunes again without the abomination of tranquility it possess.
‘can I go on and paint to undress you young lady?’
‘yeah sure, but make sure you don’t touch those erogenous places…’
‘what about I just Pat them a little sweetheart? dunes must be ascended you know…I must start one now.’
‘would you let me touch yours after this?’
‘ there’s not enough sands paddling through my veins. I am allergic to shell fish and unrequited distances…’
And as I keep on working through the nakedness of this twittering human being,
I must surrender wandering became so much of a cracker with every hell of a drink.