Russian stacking dolls.

I layer like a jawbreaker
Folding one face
over the other.
My hello, smile, freeze frame.
Molten sugar shaped into points and curves
for eyelashes and lips.

In the days, flourescent and white
I lead, I direct, I juggle

Night spent, curled in the orange glow
bracing against the pain of
distance, wiping childhood away,
being the proverbial 'strong'
picturing your eyes
and mouth, both of us
mimes and mirrors for the other.

Conflict- do I open a portal
to the distance,
and
nod to our promise and hug you
with my heart

or fixate it on it, decline
and hold the refusal
in my mind, whispering into the pillow
consoling the dodge of not
trying to lie about salty cheeks.

'balance on the wet stones,
continue your creation.
You made this construct,
and you know the way through.'
-this is my feverish mantra.

But...
In this dimension I fracture my soul
to live forever, only to get through today,
this year
this week...
while we are on opposite ends of this
fearsome Bridge.

And when the lace comes, the celebration
the toast,  I ready myself to take our bright flare
the kiss, and our promise, back with me to my painful, green cave.

and hold it in the dark, cover it, too
in salt.

and pray with every bone and fiber for
the place where our timeline can
converge.