Us and We, #120

Being two bodies;
we can only try
to lay together,
us stock and shoddy
teenagers brought up
in chassises defiled
of symmetry, hid
in this world whether
or not we like it.
We try make the most
of our custody,
arms mangled in arms,
legs twisted in legs,
the baffling angle
of blankets buckled
around us like ghosts
until we are left
begging for our space
from this warm oven
of skin against skin.

Being two bodies;
we can not afford
to keep illusions,
purebreads to the rich
and mangy scoundrels
for the rest of us,
illusion we might
somehow someday find
a way to become
one being, to board
the airplane of taste
and smell and seeing,
throw some magic switch
on a wall, caress
an outline softer
or more angular,
all foreign made
appendage, clued in
to what the queer skin
of the other knows.

Being two bodies;
we are forced to leave
the mixing of speech
to our coy gestures,
the gentle weaving
of purrs and winking
hint of a smile
sliding across eyes,
the errant grazing,
in passing, of skin
on the downy cloth
of skin or PJ’s.
Across the chasm
of conscience, we reach
out like halfwits
with futile fingers
sliding cross the bed,
beneath the stiff sheets,
hand seeking a hand,
feet searching for feet.

Being two bodies;
both need to be fed,
each of our own tastes,
at our own table
with the silverware
of our sole longings
stuck into rations
from our each buffet,
by the fruit or meat
for we’re most aching.
Our daily living
can’t quite satiate,
morsels of meals
in largesse portions,
half ingested, half
left behind like scraps
on the dining room
table, the center
of our upbringing’s
replica families.

Being two bodies;
only a brief chance
exists for mixing,
co-existing, for
creating a voice
made up of we two,
combined vocal chords,
the tiny digits
and potbellied cheeks,
a nose matching up
with the long angled
proboscis barging
in on our kisses,
the crinkled forehead,
the miniscule feet,
the absent nail
on the pinnacle
of the baby toe,
and even in this
we are no equals.

For one body shall
work in the moment,
rumbling earthquake,
rise and surrender
to it’s own weakness,
contribute in brief
and transient wisps
while the other churns
on forever, heat
of a volcano
and final rupture
to push forth the next
waves of creation,
great boiling oceans
and mountains and stars,
heavenly bodies
lighting up the night.
emitting a dark
radiation, then
left cold and separate.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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