i never knew what empty was until he left for the airport

A piece of me
is on a plane to China,
shifting awkwardly in
economy class.

His ipod dreams
I seek to punctuate,
with the missile missives
of a mad woman.

He calls me crazy,
though he knows,
we're in this madness
together:

Where we no longer
have the spaces of ourselves
but this sea of
something.

It's our joke
that we can't swim,
but see how well
we float.