Let’s not define us in human terms
arms, torso, eyes, just plastic allegories-
you can buy them in gift shops,
etched on chocolate boxes, greeting cards.
Our yearning is an oxymoron-
crushingly far. painfully soothing.
I recourse to arboreal metaphors
butterflies reverse-osmosing in my trunk-
our roots intertwining under the morass,
while we make love leaf to leaf.
The briny aftertaste of your tree sap,
shimmer briefly trapping ochre dragonflies.
I whisper something silly,
like, ‘you are my photosynthesis’ and
we quiver our branches
our dialogues stroke sleeping crows
inside us ablaze, memories of
a thousand survives, a thousand forests.
We are the seconds flowing by
the clock had ticked away all yesterdays
into a seamless mystic scarf, fastening us.
it gnaws into our tomorrows,
nibbling an hour after another-
we are the vacuum dug out, displacing air
cavities filled with matter and ether.
At times, we were like mirrors falling in love
you devoured me in tiny slurps-
one mercury coated lick at a time;
we consumed our endless gauzy reflections
I saw in you, a perfect me
an immeasurable trance
bouncing back, back, back
a cry throw from afar,
yet we need to remain still
one slight nod and all equilibrium breaks
you dissolve into a primordial sea
around my skin;
the silence defended by the
echo of waves-
filling up my quagmire with
sea shells. a taste of salt.