continuum.
a selection of S/P poetry
if this is not a dance—
then what is it?
for i see you blink when i cross your eye
(so slowly)
the room stops.
for one
moment,
and the numbers in your head
they mean nothing to you now,
i can tell,
i've been where you are.
it truly is a curious paradox:
you hate what brings you joy
but you love what gives you pain—
or maybe it's all the same.
They look...
and it speaks more
than words ever could
(even a hundred-dozen pages worth)
locked on to each other.
Quite far from ordinary,
this pair of new
(old) lovers.
his eyes are on her
chemicals, mere chemicals (he reminds himself)
of the magnetic (gravitational?) pull between
their bodies two;
hearts pound one,
but he doesn't yet know
that his name's the (unwritten) monologue waiting
until that moment.