Our bodies trace the
sound of a shape
I
eye your spine rising
from your legs through your
shoulders to your lobe
The axis of you
twists in the cursive
of us
We ascend
and descend and blend
our misspellings to
form our own small word
The word that changes
everything and its
own meaning to find
what it means
I did
not know how these words
would rest in between
spaces like anti-
matter giving things
their shape
the same words
that hide in the threads
of e-mail
disguised in the tangled lines
of memos
lying
broken at our fing-
ers like fallen leaves
scattered on the ground
kindling in the wind
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