in the glass water below
a reflection comes through ripples.
though distorted and cracking,
there is a face that bears my resemblance.
is she the one that shares my skin?
are we one in the same,
bonded by the atoms that swoon
at the newest versions of us that we create?
her eyes feel foreign, a soul i have forgotten.
lips part and reveal a mouth
which my words have never fled.
there is a friendship in our locked contact,
a hand outstretched in a truce between worlds.
i take her hand in mine,
the cool water flowing over it in a silky blanket.
at this contact, i know that we've met before.
those eyes are not foreign,
for i once bled tears along side them.
lips in which i've never known,
i find familiarity in tongues
that have kissed, fought, screamed, and loved.
her hand in mine, it isn't my skin-
but one of an old acquaintance
whom i've found home with.
her complexion is not my own,
but every reflection will take me to her.
YOU ARE READING
yellow
Poetrymy bones are too big for my body and they protrude through my skin : let's talk about love, angst, fear, peace.
