so i fall asleep with the taste of indian ink in my mouth,
with a prayer & a dream that i might
wake to find us separated from this world.
but i know it's not real.
know that i can't find you or hold you
or kiss you or kill you.
draw two dots on opposite sides of the paper.
you can fold the paper so both of them meet
but alas, they are still two dots on opposite sides of the paper.
we are not dots.
there isn't even paper.
we are the clouds & the print & the water & the earth
that runs between you & me.
an aching vision that could be flowers in another world
but here will only stain my teeth & tongue, lips & gums.
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