Process

I want to give you precisely what you need
but what does that mean about my
beginnings and endings
and your endings and beginnings
and the obscured spaces where your
beginnings become my endings
Our faces blurred by smudged charcoal
driving out the stained yellow manes of our undoing

What happens when my sweat tastes your sweat
What happens when my skin breathes your breath
When we are sitting up
facing and folding into each others bodies
like two hands
two tender fists cradling a waxing bone map of coincidences
and miraculous recoveries

I am not used to sobriety
Not while naked and slight
But I am pleased to find
that when our eyes meet
there is still a place I am unmade
that hasn’t solidified from an architects pen
that hasn’t atrophied from mitigation

It seems contrary but
I am getting used to slowing
to initiating
to breaking and breathing room
sweetened spoil from the glacier of compact grief and germ and joy

I count time by the light of the motion of the moon
And the succession of shadows on the mountains
and I am still learning that
people are also just pieces of process
In an unending place

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