And we sit in circles pondering
next summer.

We are hearts apart and there is something in the way you dream
of me that gives me antidotes in my knees. Our symptoms are similar,
they are the same and you send me blood transfusions
via the internet to keep me alive. It’s the only way, you say
for us to deal with this illness. With these sick minds
that aren’t really sick at all, just missing something.

I do not sleep, I snooze and stumble to find you somewhere
between the mattress and bed sheets. We cut holes in the fabric,
we are not supposed to be here and I sneak out
of my dreams at night

to find something more than your face. To find your hips
and your kneecaps, to find all of you
in the gaps of my teeth.

And I show you this, at 8:43pm and you say it’s random
but I guess that’s what love is honey, a bunch of verbs and adjectives
that don’t match but we try to ram them together
anyway.

Just like us, inside a hotel room, inside a packet of potato chips,
inside each others eyes. Pushing together, pulling each other apart
organ by organ so we can listen to the beats, listen to the digestion of our thoughts
in a different language
that we don’t understand.