When we were twelve you told me your favorite color
hadn't been invented yet.
Now you say its a mixture between the sky
after the sun has set but before it turns dark
and the sunset reflecting off your lover's eyes.
We feel mountain ranges.
We feel peaks and valleys
the entire topography of the earth
is crammed into our souls.
We feel miniscule.
When you were twelve you told me we are all ants,
refusing to admit the magnifying glass is poised
above us.
When we were twelve you told me that
you think our atoms knew we were sisters at heart
before they even met.