For the lovers disrupted by the lumbering ghost of Corona.
A tribute to human affection and contact, torn away from so many temporarily and beyond.
But for the six feet between us,
I would place my hand upon your hand.
I would throw my arms around your arms.
I would hold you close to me.
I would pass my fingers through your hair.
I would feel your softest parts pressed into mine.
I would goofily shoo you away, tapping your forearm without thinking.
I would gaze at your skin, seeing the complexion no lens can capture.
I would listen to you whisper, feeling your breath waft over my eyes like a gentle wind.
I would walk towards you, knowing in a moment only our clothes would separate us.
I would lie by your side, worrying about tomorrow but not this moment.
I would whisper into your ear, wishing I had popped a mint first.
I would feed you mouthfuls of delicacies, for once ignoring its worth in calories.
I would hand you that thing, brushing your fingertips with mine.
I would tell you about that guy, watching your eyes grow wide.
I would drink in your giggles, noticing how your mouth closes mid-smile.
I would change my plans if you were coming over.
I would get that shirt you like pressed for our night out.
I would love how the folds of your dress drape over my leg on the subway.
I would taste your dessert cause I never order my own.
I would snuggle up next to you on the Uber back home.
I would get in your way in my tiny Brooklyn kitchen.
I would read to you hardly caring if you listened because at least you were near me.
But for the six feet between us.