It's like stretching elastic between us;

I often wonder how far apart we may wander


We are snapped back together.

My memory is a thing of lines,

Parallel, and stretching;

Meeting at infinity.


Like the drip of apple sauce down your chin;

Swiping samples from my pan and

Telling the skin

Over my sternum

How it all needs more cinnamon.


Or the length of your leg

As it sweeps around my waist;

Tucks into the turn of my thighs.

I never needed a blanket.


Or your wet hair trailing stripes

Down my back,

Because summer is a defeating thing.

But you were always sun-child-bright,

Drinking it all in like

The heat belonged under

The smears of garden dirt and

Freckled forevers.


If I joined all the spots on you,

Would it make a constellation?

A monumental graffiti?

If I joined all the dots of you,

Would your oddities

Ever align to make one picture?