Wednesday, April 23, 2014

I want to know about the spaces between our bodies
when we stand next to each other--
the air that mixes with breath and glances,
the tensions that carry over from
your side to my arm
where it clutches my chest tighter,
shifting and growing in distance.

Is there a distillery for that content? Can we
bottle it up, pour it around ourselves when we need some room,
scoop it back up when we're done?
I found a pocket of the stuff where our hands met the other day,
and where my ribcage 
didn't fit quite perfectly into yours when we embraced,
our bones lying on top of each other, creating little channels for the substance to
funnel through.
Should I have tried to save it,
or slid each curve into place?
Does it feel warm to the touch, charged by light and temperaments,
or is it an incalculable negative space?

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