a river flows in both of us
with the same thrum of an erratic heartbeat,
steady hands that secretly shake
and heavy eyelids that feel like weights.
we grew up on the shelf--
decorum for the dollhouse
of broken dreams.
born and raised
we rise and fall
like balloons,
but we don't always get to reach the stars.
we kneel,
not in submission,
or for prayer,
but to remember where we come from
and where we'll go back to.
we crack and twist like dead trees
leaning from the weight.
diamonds, hiding,
in wait.
we are perennials--
we blossom and die;
forgetting we come alive again.
but when the sun has set and we lose our breath
we shiver amongst the silence,
only landmarks not found yet