Here, ours is a kind of prism:
bursting into inchoate rainbow drag,
the colours rioting against us
while we pool at the feet of each other,
perfecting the art of surrender
Outside, rain puts the pavement to
sleep, the humid air frothing at our necks;
tiny lives perpetuating things I cannot hold
and wouldn't wish to. One life is enough.
My mind folds in on itself, churning.
I spin my thoughts in doorways, rooms
that seem to breathe by omission.
The water rushes in through the windows,
an inch or an ocean; my eyes tessellate
the negative space into dreams of seafoam
What God holds the sea
felling our bodies into separation?
Eyes lap fresh light spilled from the cracks
of the windowsill.
Sometimes doesn't it feel
like the whole world is gasping for air?
Against the house the scent is green and
unforgiving, the tapestry of everything shaking
off its own dew. I know it is laughing at me.
As if you could split a thing away from itself,
an inch and an ocean, alive in the same breath.