Finite Infinity

Dear Night Traveler:

I am up on Mars and my identity is still the same. I have come to stare.. at this place. I brought you near inside my rugged jean pocket. Because I thought about you and whispered inside my head, “Ah, my finite infinity...” What one then does when having lived a lifetime in that moment?

Inside the vast abyss of fogging lights. Inside a tunnel void with an unwavering affinity for your piercing movements. The sometimes loud. Sometimes hasty. The sometimes I see you. All the time, I feel you.

You are a finite infinity because we could one day become strangers. Because of the idea of means to an end. But with you, the echo will always vibrate, even when our tree roots reach the bottom ten. We will always be a possibility. But to reach infinity with you is what I have devised. Those eyes. Those laser eyes that forced me to blink, and quite frankly, look away. Wait, I must protect my poise.

My lungs quiver and I feel the gentle releasing of my air, like an accidental failed scene of man and balloon. Not quiver because I am in a realm of love with you, but because I can feel the heaviness of the inevitable vibrations. When I should stay inside my own head yet can feel the energies of others, and especially you, from planets away. What does one then do? I think about you, and I think passion. Le pasión. Tu eres mi pasión.