Cartography of Our Geographic Distance

I sketch you in the vacuum space of my silence.
Once, you were an unplanned city on the edge of my tongue.
But now, you arrive in calculated absence.

You,
the poem of my heart,
have become a cold flame.
You burn without heat, stay without embracing my presence.
As if we are separated by the walls of time,
we both speak in different dialects of doubt and rhyme.

You are a near faraway, a distant closeness.
And I,
the cartographer of your reluctance,
paint this paradox
with an ink of
unwanted stoicism.