Kundera.

My calves ache with the pain
of a thousand days
walking;
through the desert,
my mouth and eyes
as dry as sin;
my heart baron
and you are all awash in a sea,
away from me,
and there's nothing left to say
for the girl who's not forgiven.

But it's only now that I'm walking away
that I realise the pain of each step;
if my feet weren't made of lead
I'd come back, I'd stand up for you.

Alas my love there are
too many miles between us now
No time for the weight of your body
on mine/your fingers on my skin.

Night falls in the desert
the land cracks with the impossibility of it, you
and me, alone, wandering, never
The sky shushes the earth and I
don't have the strength to wonder
what I'd say, what I could say now
to placate you.

For forgiveness I ask
my words will not transpose
so harshly again, I can't see you anymore
But I want to touch you.

I want to feel the unbearable lightness of being.