-i-

He could spend hours
searching
for the perfect angle.

Searching
for the solitary reflections,
a subconscious abstract of loneliness
in the grainy greys of
black-and-white trees.

He works with ink and darkrooms
trying to capture a feeling.

-i-

She is known for being a finder
a searcher
delving deep and dredging up beauty

She is not an artist
her hands
seem to destroy
instead of create

seem to smear
and leave ruin
in her wake

'honest is the best policy'
she has been taught this

[it's ingrained into her marrow
etched into her eyelids.
horrible things happen
when you lie]

so she
she
tells the truth

'I break everything I touch'

she wishes they would believe her

-i-

he spent life
in jail
for something he didn't do

he's free now
walking heavy
in a beautiful land
his skin
feels as if it is made of needles.

and then,
fire

she is a flame
flickering blue
self-contained
and she is warm
warm warm warm

and all he can do is try to keep her near

-i-

she knows how it happens

one hundred dollars
against herself
for charity

and they are eating dinner while
she finds new things inside him

his eyes are grey
smattered dark at the edges and around the iris
gleaming an off silver in the middle

[his eyes are so lonely]

he has rings
of ink
under his fingernails
imprinted on the callous of his thumb
and he has boxes
boxes
boxes of letters addressed to someone
not sharing his name

he is a book
with the pages sealed together
waterworn ink blurred beyond repair

but yet he smiles
as she tells a joke

and she thinks that maybe
he is savable after all

-i-
he takes her to the rain forest
water-logged and green, northbound

it is silent
that good silence
of trees and air and water
life unbroken by speech

and she is sitting on a log
burning red and vivid and complacent
among the shades of green

she is watching him
(her eyes are brighter than blue, brighter than the sea
full of questions)
and he finds himself breathless
aortic muscles and blood
his heartbeat is a wreck

it's not an 'i love you'
but it's good enough

'i don't feel alone with you'

-i-

he threads his fingers through her hair
and her hands are in his

it's not quite passion
not quite gentleness
just breathing
through each other's lungs
sighing when they part
with a puff of air
and from his mouth to her mouth
a string of saliva

She agrees to trust
but oh
is he a liar