this here
is written
in millipede strobe.

you mirror
the one you
  love.

it is when her hands reach
for unresponsive things
that yours too,
quavering, unknowing of the expanse
of things that seemingly draw close
in killswitch pace
that you find yourselves
dissipating swiftly like
snow tumbled across waiting tapestries.

it is when her feet go without
saying that there is a
clandestine traverse of unspoken
truths and disrupted images,
that your find yourself waxing,
beaten away from the track of
the force that beats us back
to glass.

look at us - with eyes in the
doldrum of things that mean
everything, like how breathing
is default in trial, like how derby
is expendable in the flurry
of indefatigable trying,
like how i slowly,
naked and dripping,
kiss you through waters redundant
in its resounding call.