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
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?