The pace isn't the same,
I don't know how to do the dance.

It doesn't feel right.
The two of us connected,
like Twizzlers...
waiting to be pulled apart.
Melded together if by accident,
but ill fitting all the same.

I don't like this hold...
counting the seconds until it's over.

I miss his imprint.
I miss his acrobats.

I miss the shape of our twisted bodies,
a smattering of arms and legs like Krishna.

I want to petrify it,
keep it always how it was.

For my records, of course....
just to compare.

The science is behind it.
My own personal form of chemistry.