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Apr 2019
We sit there in the morning,
Me in your shirt, you slipping on mine,
Cold coffee in a cup I know you'll leave
But I give to you any way (it's tradition).
We spent last night inches apart
So close that our hair might have switched
Or your eyesight sharpen and mine diminish
To swap our pupils round.
We chew the names of old friends out like popcorn
Barely a breath given to any individual-
Me asking about yours, you teasing about mine
The two of us (mostly) never not in agreement.
It's been this way, one might say,
For 14 years and a little over that, too,
Not that I remember clutching your hand as we lay
Belly to belly on a baby rug with our parents watching.
Your smell becomes mine, so I associate it with home-
Sweet and fresh like candy tulips and soap.

We may as well be one; this is how little our paths diverge.
This poem means a lot more now than it did then, ironically. This is about the unity I felt with my cousin a few weeks ago- I'd never expressed it in words before and this is a little too chunky for my personal taste so I never published it. Then we got too involved with a boy and after everything that happened, I blocked her off completely. It is bizarre looking back at this now, which is why I have to post it here haha.
Storge is the Greek word for natural or instinctual affection- family love.
Dominique
Written by
Dominique  18/F/London
(18/F/London)   
512
     n stiles carmona and Wk kortas
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