A cold coffee set before me
Something ordered, and yet
Hesitating–
it doesn’t sit quite right between fingers
Our orchestrated silences
A melodramatic scraping
Contrived flames
The orange, more muted than I’d thought it to be
Our tongues touch - and
I feel only our bare-bone anatomies,
Exchanging DNA
We are two strangers: 1 day, and
8 months in.
We toss and turn
And mimic what it means to be
together:
But we are barely warm to the touch.
No comments :
Post a Comment