there is growth
there is new growth in the building
all the while onions are chopped and rotting in the fridge
we argue over kimchi
over the house only one of us imagines
we talk about rent
over the tea that lukes and loses
there is new growth where there are stagnant bodies
in the building
we interact like children
neither feeling young nor old
we are living in dual time
where he was when he was
where was he when he was
womb portals tell me that's the only way i'll know
i see a baby boy
and smile seeing his ears.
but we live on different planes with different interests morals mostly matching.
we could make love
if my body could make love
if my body wasn't scared of love
the intensity of love
the intensity masked and falsified by the reel
women muscles contracting yet not transferring real contraction passed screen into room.
i am unable to accept anyone.
but the shapes that make him are amusing
he is cartoon walking
mixtures of men
and kind souls
he has horse hooves, no ankles, and it is lovely.
he writes IT, all of it, often.
he can do this for days
yet he sleeps like rocks
only eroding slightly
fish lips by morning swollen by oversized mouthguard
he finds his way onto my pillow proving my point.
erosion, not of love
i am not obsessed with the image of a strong woman
yet this is what i am breading myself for
as the waters wash us out of cream sheets each day
as i realize that i have begged him for children
for i have begged for more of him
when he is nothing but moving shape memories
flip-books to show the teenagers.
as if i should get into cards
understand my fate
understand this love
this undeniable sign of differing time why don't they ask lovers to explain physics. or doctors to read cards. i feel that i or him will leave me soon.