A hundred thousand light years or a meter
Are equidistant where the heart's concerned:
Both time and space serve only to make sweeter
That force from which the heart cannot be turned.
I say "cannot," for surely I endeavored
On Gol to purge from me emotion's stirring.
Yet each time I believed the bond was severed
Those thoughts of you, cruel thieves, just kept recurring.
They stole from me my calm--hard won composure--
Robbed logic, certainty, and Vulcan reason;
Left nothing in their place but raw exposure
Of wounds that should have long since passed their season.
Light years, miles, and meters became the same
The instant that my heart called out your name.