We’re in bed,
its shape akin to squaring the circle.
You on your left side, me on mine.
The morning comes.
It’s your high tide.
I’ve you in my mind, a hole I cannot close.
While you rise, I stare at your eye
staring at me black from high above.
The time comes and you’re ready to go.
I’m set to wait,
always right behind these clouds,
fog or mist,
protecting you of your own glow.
We are fated to movement,
looking for a kind of vestal's vestige,
sniffing after the faint scent
to ascertain where it is, where it went.
To my question, ‘What is that it?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ you reply.
*
The afternoon is at its fullest.
I try to breathe in and notice
you’ve burnt all oxygen in your search.
I go outside for air,
leaving footprints in water and earth,
my playground's mud.
Strange jobs we have.
I investigate the light in beauty,
you search for the dark in crime.
I can't tell the toil of courage
from that of camouflage.
**
Evening comes.
You chase me around;
to chase you I’m bound.
We have supper.
You grew some food for my hunger
in my very soil.
***
The night sets in; my tide’s turn.
You sit by my side.
We cannot stop so we touch.
We touch, yet we don’t mingle,
humanly alone and single.
You talk,
I open my mind to let your thoughts penetrate.
Feel,
your body opens to my penetrating blood.
I’m in.
You, hang on.
Noli turbare circulos meos.
