“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves.
So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover.”
—Oshima, Kafka at the Shore, Haruki Murakami
maybe these were all acts of appeasement
gentleness sculpted from arcs of imbalance
we found moments to share our other worlds
despite the gravity of our efforts against orbits
there was a time like many many other times
i visited your apartment and spent the night
you insisted i share your bed in a platonic truce
so we arrived between sheets anxious travellers
to lie in bed side by side you doing crosswords
i imagine my face between bare shoulder blades
you have the room cold because you know me
and then you drape your left leg over my right
you are smiling and concentrating on the puzzle
and we both remain silent in the chilled bedroom
we found ourselves there in layers to lie in bed
to lie to those who did not know we were together
to lie to each other as we ignored shared longing
to lie to ourselves about the world we had missed
to lie in bed was precious like a translucent marble
treasured by a child in wonderment for a cat’s eye
that night and other times when i pressed my foot
against the sole of yours they fit perfectly perfectly
that night and other times when i pressed my foot
against the sole of yours they fit perfectly perfectly
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