Braided are we like the sun
in the orbits of the planets;
behaving as one.

Like the shout from a swell
that clatters upon the stone;
when touching as we do we
are cut to the bone—ah! Such pain
to know how truly in depth we are.

You as the feather;
I swipe to clutch and quite miss.

I as the water;
you go to grip and I spatter,
like a wish, I think.

How we do wish; how we do
yearn and pine for that which is not
yours nor mine.

Play catch-up we try,
spending hours and hours lying
as corpses and counting the crows
that grace the sky.

Among, all of this,
things are rather lonesome,
and yet still I am feeling smothered.

To be fathered or mothered;
neither of us really ever had.
In youth our backs bent as elders,
sagging beneath all the weight.

For Christ’s sake! Can’t we just

I’m not sure we, either of us,
knows how. But, I think,
perhaps, I might be willing to
give it a go now.

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