On my first day he never spoke
My second day his lips brought forth letters
Then with the third we broached words
In a week there was a sentence
And after a month there were conversations.
Gradual steps to comfort, but strides in perception.

Wondering who he was I gathered some initiative
I tried to aim it gently but i probably hit a few nerves
Erratic as usual he might have regretted being hit
Carful as I could be but as clumsy as I am  
His glass spine shattered with my slightest presence
He's the vase but who could be his flowers
Im not delicate I won't be able to line his rims with petals
Im not poised I won't be able to color his reflection with a primary's elegance
Im not rigid I won't look strong or brilliant floating in the water that his depth holds
For all these reasons I shouldn't fill the bouquet his shape desires.

Wishing for the day when we would equal one
The pull of numbers to the decrease of a sum
Begging for a clock that provided us with the time to process love
The tug of a gear syncing to the motion of the machine
Praying for a reality where he would be a fixture in my future
The luminosity of a memory we share sparking with the light of mutual desire.