Dilute
this red, red longing
into word-play

Sometimes the words don't come

The struggle begins
In memories
which are not happening now

But if they did,
with what would I decorate
the chapped edges of my sadness

For that would remain
Even if I could
this moment see
your skin
gleaming with my wetness

Even if
I etched my kisses
on your eyelids

I would still cry

This bridge
my love
holds both our bodies
We will brush, touch, enter
Know
So many more

We

are looking away
to either side

creating different
we's
and I's

breaking into the tiniest pieces
our 'we'