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.