Nearer than this, can be death. br br My hands lie on the coffee table and yours br next to it and we are not grouping br for each other. br br The inexplicable grasped through br sips of coffee washed down the br scorching gullet gives a lurch. br Yet the mind refuses to accept. br Loss is an abstract feeling. br You do not loose what you never owned. br Un recognised when it comes back br Turn tables at it. br You have finally mastered the art of br waking up to lullabies. br br The firefly with burnt wings br commits Harakiri. br They never taught me the safe distance. br br The coffee table stands testimony br to the unsaid. br br To die for love has been an age old obsession. br To live is the new age discovery.