A relationship that shows like glass and feels like movement
        how can what is growing inside me not be inside you, too?
I’ve been silent and gone for a year, calling into question
        every interaction, every syllable of speech, odd phrase,
                and questions of want and right.
Have we not hands,     , are we not now bold?
Wear the blueprints of your palms proudly.

When I have chromatic visions of your body neath these eyelids
        I want to move forward until I’m lying next to you.
More to the point, I want the space between us to not exist and
        I want to be able to hear you breathe when I’m dreaming.

Come to me when you’re covered in mud,
        splattered with blood and impressions of other’s hands
        from your neck down.
Whether you’re tattered or beaten or just tired
        come to me when you’re stable or bleak,
        I’ll tell you I haven’t seen you in two months and
I’m worried you haven’t noticed.