ONE
man sits in a pristine state of loneliness
his one heart in perfect singularity
waiting
to be found
not bothering to search
waiting to find himself
as a part
of
TWO
hands held
with two beats, the quiet
lub-dub of each of the
two hearts
slightly out of synchronization
overlapping
just a touch
so the two double beats
become a beat
of
THREE
perfect circles in descending sizes
in each of their
eyes
of which there are
FOUR
lip touches to say goodbye
because the first
would’ve been the last without the second,
the second wasn’t sufficient
and the third wasn’t enough  
and the fourth
would lead to kiss
number
FIVE
fingers locked
around
five
fingers
on the small of her back
and five fingers wrapped up in
his hair
he wishes he had more fingers to make the
hold stronger
he wishes
he had
SIX
syllables spoken between them
the same three words repeated
so they know
that
their hearts beat
a little bit closer
the veins and arteries
wrapping around the other
pulling it in
pulling the beats together
making them a little less
disjointed
but she’s all the nearer comatose,
her slow beats
in this minute
barely reached
SEVEN
sounds
that he counts
in every
minute
that he stands there
unable
to sit
his legs locked, shut
like her eyes
that he wants to stare into
he shakes
she does not stir
even as the sun climbs higher in the morning sky
she does not stir
he counts more sounds
every minute
he counts as they
go from
seven
to
EIGHT
arms and legs
wrapped like tentacles
wrapped so tight
never wanting to release
and show the red
suction marks
from each of their fingers
on the other’s
skin
like an octopus
their eight limbs
holding together
their one heart
it’s dull
lub-dub beat
in perfect synchronization
with itself
in the perfect opposite
of a pristine
state of loneliness