We are both suspended in the fractions of a clock's ticking hands,
the collections we've acquired of one another and
if I move between the unframed photographs strewn all
over the desk and through books without bindings
to graze the handwritten and typed letters
I will know you beyond the still statue your heart
grew into and my skin placed entirely against yours
will be a storm chipping away the cold sediment,
unearthing the lovely sculpture that's always
breathing so longingly beneath.
I will know your warm breath touching my body
as a wind scattering dust off of my bones and veins
and cracking the ice framed around where I
once knew how to love without taking,
where I knew how to undo the knots fragile hearts
make so I can tie us together.
We are both catalysts in the fractions of a calendar's turning page,
the museums of one another we've carefully collected
and cataloged and if I memorize the textures and spirits
between the unclaimed mementos strewn everywhere
I'll merge into each flawlessly recreated echo to graze
the places you lost yourself in.
You'll know me between the bindings I've written
my heart into and your skin placed entirely against
mine will be the storm I've been waiting for the force
of to unearth the love that's been patiently breathing beneath.
You will know my warmth racing along your body
as a wind and crackling static fusing to your bones and veins,
breaking the glaciers framed around where we once
met and knew how to love without holding back,
where we learned how to make our bodies into fragile tender knots.
We are both stilled in the fractions of tying together,
a collection of the ways two can know one another beyond all else.
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