Finger by finger,
toe by toe,
I am getting away
from you.

I am getting away
from the lazy snake
called your vehicle traffic
filling roads in dormant states.

I am getting away
from nine to fives
that work like five to elevens

I am getting away
from the thick population
the noise and the rush

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

After all parts of me have left,
I find my whole self still in you.
What in poetry’s name are you?