Distance

I'll spare the cliché of cursing myself 
And wishing to have those hours returned:
The times we ignore each other without
Intent or perhaps on purpose; the plane
Of minutes so empty, let down, bereft,
When longing and conversation so yearned,
Igniting as hope so briefly piffs out
The fuel of an interaction in vain,
Expended; and longing only remains.

But wanes and then you return once again,
So soothingly, never mad as I fear
You might be for all the times that I fall
Asleep when you want to talk.