coulee

these stones between us should form steps.
we should, hesitantly, put out our feet, and move close
until the space between your dips and my rises is less than it was,
until the taste of your breath is not foreign to my tongue,
until your fingernails are the reason for the crescents on my palm.

these nails on our lips, so bright
under the mutual microscope of our gazes should melt–
they should melt and fuse each crack in our ribs,
that we might become invulnerable to each other’s whiplash tongues;
we should speak, we should realize each thought,
because it matters.

this chasm should fill with the magma i can see
bubbling beneath our raw skins
oozing softly between the spaces
where we once completed each other.
we should coalesce, because it is meant to happen.

separation should be a blot of ink
on a page in our history–

we should come together,

but who should brave this breach first?

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