In the morning, over coffee
as you read the book I have dog-eared for you, I will
lift your arm and bring your wrist to my lips first,
and then my ear, and listen.

You will joke about the ocean, and I will shush you,
a routine. We’ll fall back into silence, and I will
just faintly,
hear your pulse.

I will lie over your left breast as we sleep,
my favorite side of you.
Whenever you hold someone close,
I will be envious that in that moment
they hear you and feel you beat and I cannot.
I will not grow angry or spiteful,
But I will envy.

When we grow old,
I will press my ear to your belly
and you will hold my hand over your heart,
our hair now different shades of the same color,
our skin still the same fabric on different bodies.

It’s as if time floods back and forth through my veins, numbing my arms
A thousand lifetimes where where we know the shape of each other’s skin
like the seed knows to grow
And the wood knows the split and crack of years
A thousand you and me.

But sovereign sister, my red queen,
We only have this
The ropes in our hearts spread taught
Our souls waiting, incomplete
Hands groping for ghosts of touch.

When I first map your jawline with my lips,
I will know the path, and make a new one.